I Know I'm Not Sleeping
by TiniTinuviel
Summary: Harry has nightmares about his recent kidnapping and wakes up to face the horrible truth.
1. I Know I'm Not Sleeping

Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping.  

I don't know how long it's been that I haven't gotten more than a few hours sleep in a night.  

Roughly kept awake by the captors that never leave me, I have fallen into a state of mindlessness.  Mindlessness until today.  Something has awoken within me.  A fire that tells me that I must escape.  I can't stay here any longer.  

The more I look up, the more white masked faces I see, looming overhead, watching my every move.  Their arms are trained against me, their faces are sinister.  

I lie in a sort of sprawled ball, an oxymoron, I know, but that's how it is.  I know there is a burning in my eyes that they will recognize if I lift my face and so I keep it trained to the floor.  I am aware of a sharp pain along my left side, my exposed side.  It aches with every breath I take and sharply stabs at me in the night.  

A vision strikes me and I lurch forward on the floor, covering my head with my arms, pulling my knees to my chest.  The Death Eaters surrounding me shift closer, some laughing, some pointing, others keep their well trained wands pointing at vital parts of my body.  My head, my lungs, my neck which I can't seem to cover.  If only Sirius were here.  This could all go away.  If only he could come and save me like I know he would.  But they don't know where I am; their location is secure.  Voldemort is wise enough not to practice strenuous dark magic in one place anymore, it is easily traced and I would be easily found.  

My vision complete, I steal a heavy gasp of air and struggle to control my breathing.  Foolishly, I lower a hand to my stomach, still curled on the floor, and try to easy the pain that pools there.  My face exposed, I soon learn the price for not protecting myself; one sharp kick is all it takes.  Covering my face again I once more learn the lesson of not protecting myself.  Another round in the side.  I try to make myself small, smaller than I already am and they laugh at my attempts and decide to leave me be.  Curled tightly against the wall, my silent tears stream across the blood from my nose, leaving trails of flesh on my tired cheeks.  

The dark wood floor echos in my ear and reverebates against my shoulder and hip, both dug painfully into the unforgiving floor.  They are approaching.  

_No.  Please, dear God, let them leave me be!_  

They are behind me now, kneeling on the floor overtop of me.  I can see their shadow looming on the wall, bent over my practically non-existent frame.  

_Please God save me!_  

A hand reaches out from a cloak, aiming to grab my shoulder.  I bury myself into the wall, rolling away from the touch, anything to stay away from the pain, but there is nowhere to go.  

The fingers are against me now, and a hand grabs me roughly, shaking me hard and ripping me away from the wall.  I cannot resist a cry of pain and fear as the white mask hovers over me.  They are going to kill me now.  

_No, please don't._  

'Open your eyes!' a voice commands me, but I only struggle beneath their grasp.  'Open your eyes!' they command again, this time grabbing my chin and forcing my head back.  'Harry!' and my eyes fly open, cold sweat dripping down my forehead.  'It's alright,' the mask says, but it's not a mask at all.  The face is white, for sure, but only from the pale moonlight, a day away from full.  'Harry, it's okay.  You're alright,' he tells me, 'You're home, you're safe.'  

I realize the hand is not against my chin, but my forehead and I understand.  He reaches around me to pull me up to sit where I cry into the shoulder of his robes, cry as I have done for the past four weeks.  The cycle won't end.  It has been never ceasing.  

My ears feel hot as the arms hold me strongly and I wait for the pain to subside.  The pain of memory and of hurts, long healed but ever reminiscing.  He rubs my back until the tears relinquish, at last holding me at arms length.  

'Are you okay?' he asks.  He looks so ill, so ill and here he is taking care of me and my childish dreams.  I nod with a quavering breath, wiping my face with the sleeves of my night robes.  'Here' he says, and hands me a tissue.  

'I'm taking you in come morning,' he says with finality.  "In" meaning the hospital.  'I can't stand to see you like this any longer,' he says sadly, and I nod in grim defeat.  It was a deal we had made long ago.  Should they last to the new moon, I was to be admitted without question.  Four weeks was too long for a condition like mine.  

'Do you want me to stay with you until the moon goes down?' he asks.  I nod my head yes although my heart tells me to let him sleep and my tears begin anew.  He can see my thoughts though, he reads them like books and pulls me into another embrace.  'I don't mind,' he tells me. 'Honestly, I don't.  I sleep through it anyway. Don't you worry about me.'  

He lets me go and I lie back down; he moves to sit in the desk chair before me.  'I'm always here, Harry, you'll always have me,' and he begins to tell me stories, anything to ease my mind.  Stories of my father, of my mother, of myself when I was younger, and I fall asleep to the sound of his voice, starting the cycle one more time. 

That's it… If you dig it, review it, and if you really dig it, maybe I'll continue it!  Laters!

   ~Tini


	2. He Wakes Up in the Morning

December 31, 2003 

Disclaimer: I own naught but the story line.

A/N: Wow! Due to a "feed me!" response of reviews, I have felt both super excited and obligated to continue!  So here's to you, my friends: angel74, Rubberduckie713, anzie, Kimmy2, ParanoiaIn2005 (I'm so excited you're reading this one too!), Kate and Melissa!  Enjoy!

~

I wake in the morning to find sunlight sprinkled on my bed sheets and a cool, heavy pressure against my forehead.  Remus is nowhere to be seen.  

Slowly, easily I raise myself into a sitting position, removing the washcloth as I move.  It still spits water into my hand as I lightly squeeze it, dribbling into my lap.  Apparently he hasn't been gone for very long.  I sit still for a moment, recalling the details of the previous night before I heave my legs over the side of my bed and force myself to stand.  

It is only now that I hear the gruff voice come up the stairs, followed conversationally by a very low bass and a mid-to-high level baritone. 

_They're already here_.

The thought should not surprise me, I tell myself, as it is the day of the full moon, but surprise me it does and I reluctantly pad my way over to my closed bedroom door, slipping my glasses on as I go.  The springs within the handle creak until finally the latch releases and I wind my way down the hall, sunlight drenching the already soft sunflower walls.  Descending down to the open foyer, I begin to hear the actual words being spoken, not just rumblings of different pitches and emotions, and I stop where I am at.  

"You don't look in any fit state to travel today, sonny," Mad-Eye Moody observes.  

"He's right, Remus," the bass I now recognize as Kingsley Shacklebolt continues.  "If you walk in there looking like you are now, they may well admit you along with him."  

"And don't lie to us and tell us you're fine again, either," a female voice says.  "You and my cousin were always horribly original in your day-to-day lies."  Tonks.  

I can hear Remus sigh in defeat.  "But I promised him I would go with him."  

"I'm sure he'll understand if you need to stay home," Mrs. Weasley chimes in. 

_How many people are in our kitchen?_ I think to myself and suddenly I don't feel like making an appearance.  

Sinking to sit on the stairs, I start trying to think of something I can do to catch Remus' attention without the whole crowd.  I'm spared the process however when Mrs. Weasley strides out of the kitchen and catches sight of my shadow amongst those of the banister posts on the floor.  I close my eyes tightly, waiting for the all-too-familiar shriek of "Oh Harry, dear!  You're awake!" and being ushered down to breakfast when I am surprised by an unusual silence.  I open my eyes to find her ascending the stairs, stealing a glance to the kitchen door, and kneeling before me.

"How are you feeling today, love?" she asks me, so quietly, but to my just waking ears it is the perfect level of sound.  The level just after the whisper; a softness that still maintains some small hint of power.

I nod my head in response; there's not much else I can do.

"How did you sleep this morning?  It's just barely half eight now.  Couldn't you sleep any longer?" she persists.

Slowly, I shake my head.  I had been restless all night, despite the calm voice that I clung to when nothing else could ease me.  The few hours surrounding daybreak had been the only truly relaxed moments of sleep I'd gotten, but they'd become restless again when the suns light had streamed in my window, hitting me in the face.  Remembering the wet cloth and hearing him speak in the kitchen, I ask how Remus is doing.

"I'm not sure, love.  He says that he's fine but he doesn't look well at all.  I don't think he slept much last night either.  He really didn't want it to come to this."

I sigh, knowing he probably spent his time watching over me in the early hours berating himself for not being able to help me on his own.  He had tried so hard but nothing he did made them go away.  Not for the first time, I wonder fruitlessly if there was something more I could have done to end the nightmare.

I can feel Mrs. Weasley searching my turned aside eyes before finally suggesting going to the kitchen for breakfast, but I am far from hungry.

After a short pause, she continues with, "Would you like me to go get him for you?"  How easily she reads my thoughts.  I nod my head again and she stands on the stair she was positioned on.  "Everything will work out, love, and you'll be home before you know it."  I drop my head at this, more in thanks than in thought but I think she takes it the opposite way.  Patting my knee, she turns down the stairs and I wait silently where I'm at.

Amidst the loud voices chattering in the kitchen to my left, I still manage to hear Mrs. Weasley informing Remus of my whereabouts and a faint clatter of dishes.  In no time at all he's walking across the wooden entryway and climbing up the steps, at plate with toast and eggs in his hand.

"She thought you might like these, just in case," he explains, hesitantly passing the plate over as he sits on the step below mine.  Now I understand what all of the fuss was about earlier.  His grey eyes hold little spirit, his face, a forced and tired smile.  But I can see the way his fingers shake and the smile wavers; I can see the pale cheeks mixed with the flush of illness and how he squints so desperately against the sunlight.  Seeing his strength to come up here to speak with me drives me to put aside my self-consciousness and use my own strength.  He should not be suffering up here because of me when the kitchen assuredly lies darker and must be more comfortable than the hardwood stairs.  I begin to rise, but he holds me back.  The Morning Ritual, as we dubbed it, has seemingly begun; I know I can't escape it, but then I wasn't trying to escape so I let him lead the process.  

"What did you dream about last night, Harry?"

I sigh, pushing my eggs around my plate with the fork that came with it, watching them flop around with revoltion. 

"The gardens… the manor… them coming to kill me.  Later, it was when I was sick," I finish in a very small voice.

Remus sighs in defeat.  "All in one night?" he sounds hurt and incredulous.  

"Mmm hmm," I nod, praying the tears won't return.

"I was afraid that was the reason for your sudden fever this morning," he mumbles. "Are you still feeling sick now?"

"A little," I tell him truthfully and he pulls the plate from my hands. 

"Let's get this away from you then, huh?" and I nod in agreement, surrendering my fork as he places it a few steps above us, well out of my sight, although I miss the warmth it provided.  "Are you going to be alright to travel there?"

I nod, "It's been going away a lot faster lately, and I didn't dream about it very long."

"I don't know," he says, inspecting my downcast face, "you still look a bit flushed.  Was it at the beginning or the end?"  

He's always known the right questions to ask.  I can't imagine what it will be like at the hospital, full of random people I've never seen or met before that I'll have to explain every action to, every memory, every emotion, and they still won't have a clue as to how to help me.  He understands my sleep patterns and can easily figure out from the dreams he pulls me from what tales he must tell me to calm my unbelievably fast heart rate and shot nerves.  He understands at the drop of a word what things mean to me, what horrors they have ripped upon my life.  

"The beginning.  I have a horrible feeling that I'm going to be getting the worst of it tonight."

"Why tonight?" he murmurs.  "Why couldn't it have been any other time?"

I don't know what to say, I'm lost for words myself although my mind echoes his thoughts.  Those people, they won't understand and nothing I say will make them.

"Remus!" Mad-Eye shouts from the kitchen doorway, slapping us out of our own separate thoughts.  "Oh, I didn't know you were sitting right there," he says, which has to be the worst lie I have ever heard in my life, "We've got to be going by 10:30.  Emmeline has to see to her niece today." And just as abruptly as he arrived, he disappears.  

We both shake the tension off that Moody has left us with and Remus turns to me.  "Looks like we'll have to finish the Ritual later.  Do you have anything packed yet?  Do you want some help?" he asks.

I revert back to shaking my head and being to stand on the stairs.

"Call me if you need anything," he says from his seat, pulling the once removed plate to his lap.  Again I nod and ascend the stairs to my room, completely unaware of what is to happen on the staircase once I'm gone.

~

That's it for this round!  A HUGE thank you too my reviewers!  I honestly didn't think this would get a response at all, but it looks like I was wrong!! So _Thank You!_ again and Happy New Year!

~Tini :D


	3. Not Myself

January 7, 2004

Disclaimer:  Surely you don't think any of this is really mine?

A/N:  Hey all!  Sorry it took me awhile to get this to you (and that it's kinda short) but I never really thought I would get more than a few reviews for this, thus I didn't think of where to take this, but over the last week the ideas have been flooding in, thus the delay and short chapter! But! I think I know what I'm doing now, so without any more ramblings, here's chapter 3!

~

Fifteen minutes time finds me sitting on my freshly made bed frustratedly picking the lint off of the would-be-lapels of my jacket.  Why I'm wearing a jacket is beyond me.  It's late July.  The women can all be seen in their best summer dresses walking their dogs around the park and the men and other boys have taken out their just-above-the-knee length jeans.  People have been playing football everywhere and more than once I've had to fetch the neighbor boy's ball out of the backyard while Remus sleeps on the couch.  But that was back when he could find ways to make up his lost sleep; lately, the vow of self-imposed insomnia holds us both, only for drastically different reasons.  Perhaps it's just remnants of my dream that's making me cold.  Perhaps I'm just nervous. 

A knock on my door pulls me to me senses and I shiver slightly as I tap my foot on the ground.  

"Are you ready, Harry?" Charlie Weasley asks me from the doorway.  Surprised again that there's more people here than I knew of, I look pointedly at the bag atop my trunk and he seems to get the message.  But instead of offering me a few more minutes as I had hoped, he slips all the way into my room to sit across from me on Remus' chair.  He clears his throat before he speaks, but what he says resounds clear and strong.  

"Are you upset about going to the hospital, Harry?  Because it really isn't all that bad.  Sure the food can't hold a five-year-olds wand light to Hogwarts', but as long as you remember to stay away from anything that has the words "surprise," or "mystery," in it, you should be fine." He paused.  "On second thought, if you hear the name Mislovanich in relation to food, don't eat anything," he says with a bit of green tinge to his cheeks. "I think I found a cephalohydris' tentacle in my pancakes once from that woman," and I can't help but smile as he visibly shivers at the memory but he perks up right away.  "I've been to a lot of hospitals in my line of work and none have ever been as horrendous as they are made out to be, except for maybe _that one.  You know that, don't you?"_

I nod slowly; I still haven't made eye contact.  

"That's not what's bothering you, is it?" he asks, perceptive as ever.  

I shake my head.  

"Can you tell me what is?"  

I don't answer, but I find myself subconsciously looking at everything in my room that reminds me of _him_.  Charlie doesn't catch it though; how could he?  

I feel so stupid!  I'm sixteen years old and I can't even tell somebody what's bothering me! 

Unfortunately, Charlie takes my silence as a "no" and dejectedly decides it's best to politely excuse himself.  

"I'll be back in about five minutes, give you a little more time to make sure you haven't forgotten anything," and he begins to close the door.

_It's now or never_…

"Charlie?" I ask, and he returns about midway through the door, but the words I want to say won't come out.  Regrettably, all I can manage is "Thank you," before he smiles at me but he notices the frustrated look on my face and returns all the way into my room, sitting once again in front of me. 

"You can tell me, Harry.  I'm not Bill, I won't run to Mummy," he says in a perfectly serious fashion.  His slander of his older brother is a complete fabrication though; neither of the eldest Weasleys would reveal a secret no matter how inane, even in death.  

"He's really worried about you, you know," he says slowly, leaving room between all of his sentences, giving me time to think.  "Mum doesn't want him to go with us today, in case you haven't heard.  She's afraid that he's not strong enough to make it."  And now it seems he's fighting a great battle within himself.  To tell, or not to tell.  "I don't think he'd want me to tell you this Harry, but he almost fell down the stairs no more than ten minutes ago, and he would have fallen too if Bill hadn't been up there talking to him because he caught him, you know.  It's not really a surprise though, I guess, is it?  You can tell it's because the moon is out tonight.  In any case, Bill and I had to practically carry him down and he was still fighting with Mum when I came back this way."

I can't think of a single thing to say.  When I heard Bill call for Charlie fifteen minutes ago, I assumed it was for something trivial like it always is.  I can't believe what actually almost happened.  My mind is reeling with information and my eyes blindly search the floor, desperately trying to make sense of it all.

"What were they fighting about?" I ask.  It is the first sentence that I have said to anybody other than Remus in over three weeks.  Charlie looks both ecstatic and relieved.

"Remus wants to go because he's promised you that he would, but Mum and the others are worried that if he does get there, they'll put him up in Mungo's too and then you'll be separated until one of you gets better.  But then Remus maintains that none of us know you like he knows you," I nod, "and thinks that it will be beneficial for him to speak for both of you instead of one of us trying to and getting it all wrong."  It's true.  Logical Remus.  He always thinks of everything.  "Do you want him to come along? Or do you want him stay here?"

I hold up one finger.  _Option number one, please_.  "But, can I see your mum before we go?"

"Sure, Harry," he says, that makes two.  "I'll go get her for you right now."

~

Final note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys rule! Terence, Wiccan PussyKat, ParanoiaIn2005, Kate, Rubberduckie713, jaycee, and cb! It's always a pleasure!


	4. A Bad Goodbye

January 13, 2004

Disclaimer: I made the effort, can you imagine the rest? :D

Notes at the end today!  Hope you enjoy the chapter!

~

Walking into St. Mungo's with a backpack full of your own clothes is one of the worst feelings in the world.  To walk up to that Inquiries counter and ask that annoyed little blonde witch where registered patient check-in is located makes your stomach feel like you've just swallowed the entire world's population of snails alive and none of them like you too much for doing it.  Walking down that hallway makes every defense you have inside start to crumble.  

We are led by a chipper little candy-striper who definitely loves volunteering at the place way to much to be healthily normal.  Mad-Eye seems especially put-off by the double-braided girl but that's not what makes it so bad.

The worst of it is walking beside Remus.

We have no idea what to say to each other.  Sure, we'd talked about the possibility of this day ever since we'd made the agreement just shy of a month ago, but I don't think either of us really expected it to happen.

I can tell that deep down he's searching for something to say, or maybe to just put his hand on my shoulder like perhaps my dad would have done, but instead we just walk straight ahead, turn some corners, climb some stairs.  

It doesn't matter now that I'm nervous, that I'm scared.  It doesn't matter that I would rather be any place in the world than under this roof.  It doesn't matter that I know I will be alone here, and that while my hope should soar at the possibility of them helping me, my hope disintegrates, blowing away in cool breeze... being swallowed up by the fish of the sea.

"This is the floor," the girl says, jarring me back to reality.  She's been talking the whole time, probably with only Mrs. Weasley and Tonks as her audience.  She can't be a year or two older than me.  "This is Kevin," she says as we walk through some doors, motioning to a dark haired, early twenty-something, James Dean looking guy about ten feet in front of us.  "He'll take you to your room from here.  I hope you enjoy your stay," and she turns back to the hallway we have just come from.

_Yeah, I'll enjoy being here_, I sarcastically think. _This will be an absolute riot_.

"Wow, Harry, I assume?" Kevin says, shaking my hand.  "You've got quite the entourage here.  Do you think I can rent them for an evening?  Make sure my baby sister isn't harassed on her first date tonight?" he says with a smile.

"Think before 'ya speak, sonny," Mad-Eye says with a growl. "We've got more important things to do than play Private Eye because you were never taught to properly examine your sister's little schoolmates."  But Kevin still winks at me as he respectfully bows to Mad-Eye, making the "he sure is crazy" gesture as we turn to continue down the hall.

"I saw that!" he growls again, but it is quickly followed by Mrs. Weasley whispering, "Oh, hush up, Alastor! Stop being such a grumbly old fool!" and both of us have a very difficult time trying to contain our laughter, which only makes it turn to snorts.  Perhaps I won't be entirely alone here after all… Soon we come upon a hallway running perpendicular to the one that we are on and are thus forced to choose a direction to continue in.

"Your room will be down this hallway," Kevin says straightening up.  "You can always tell which one you want because the healer is _not_ pointing to it.  If he should shift positions however," and the painting shifts sitting positions in animation to the prompt, "just remember to go to the left," and then both he and the painting begin to laugh.  Apparently this was a joke that they told to everyone, or everyone they wanted to mess around with.  We begin to turn down the left hallway and continue along, but before we've taken more than ten steps, a voice yells out, "Good luck, young man!" It came from the portrait. 

Kevin hastily picks up, "Sir Vincent Nircolemps.  He was the first wizard deemed to have narcolepsy and was very close to finding the cure.  Unfortunately, as he was mixing the finally ingredients in the potion, his illness kicked in and he fell asleep.  I guess he mixed in too much of the wrong thing because the entire lab blew up, losing all of his notes along with him.  So the only place that he was ever able to overcome the illness entirely is in his portraits.  He's got a great sense of humor, that man, and timing."  Already, Kevin reminds me of the Weasleys: serious when need be, but preferring to look on the brighter side of life at all times.

"And then we have some doors, do-do-do… That one right there," he says conspiratorially, pointing to a dark wooden one on the right, "is a broom closet.  Remember that for when you meet Healer Hantke.  Very nice… very roomy," and again I am forced to stifle a laugh.

"Anyway!  This is going to be your room riiiiiiiiiight, here," he says, jumping to a stop in front of an open door.  

Looking in, I thank God the moment I see that I have a room to myself.  I've never heard if I make any noise in my sleep, but if Remus has been waking up every night for the past four weeks to come and see what's wrong, I can only assume that I don't rest quietly.  The last thing that I want is my picture on the front of _The Daily Prophet_ again, headline, "'Boy-Who-Lived' now 'Boy-Who-Screams-Relentlessly-Through-the-Night'!"

"I think you'll find the room comfortable," Kevin tells us, walking in and opening the shades, allowing the light to come flooding in.  "Not much to it but the bed is nice which I hear is part of why you're with us?  You're having trouble sleeping?"

Looking down, for some reason ashamed, I nod my head.

"Well, we'll see about that.  With any luck we'll have you out of here by the time the week is out.  I'll go get Healer Rainer for you.  Go ahead and have a seat," he says just before he walks out of the room.  "Oh, yeah," he adds, "I'm sort of like your head nurse, dude, thing," he says, shaking his head and shrugging.  "For some reason they think that being top of my class for, well, forever, and being the youngest guy to graduate from "Healer School," that I know what I'm doing so they gave me this cool uniform and a stethoscope."  He shrugs again and raises his eyebrows in a "Who-da-thunk-it?" sort of fashion before walking out of the room backwards, saying, "Welcome to Mungo's," before he's out of sight.

"I don't like him," Mad-Eye speaks up right away.  "He doesn't take his job seriously, nor does he take us seriously."

"He's just trying to be nice, Moody," Remus says.  "I think it's kind of refreshing actually.  The last thing people want when they're stuck here is some stuck up old hag telling everybody to be quiet and eat their Jell-O."

"Yeah, have a sense of humor, Mad-Eye," Tonks adds, winking at me in the process.  "Or are you just upset because you saw with your magic eye that Healer Hantke isn't here today?"  The laughter all slips out so suddenly that nobody really has time to catch themselves.  Even Mrs. Weasley falls victim to joking on Moody's behalf.

"Hardly," he replies, "I just wish these punk kids would take something seriously here.  This is a hospital after all!" 

"Now, Alastor, I'm sure he's perfectly professional when need be.  He's just trying to lighten the mood is all," Mrs. Weasley cooed, just barely finished suppressing her giggles.

"I see you've all met Kevin," a woman asks as she strides into the room without warning.  "For being something of a child genius he sure can make an idiot of himself, can't he?  I'm Healer Rainer.  It's nice to meet all of you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Remus says, stepping forward to shake her hand.  Quickly he goes around the room with introductions.  "I'm Remus Lupin, this is Bill and Charlie Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Molly Weasley, and Harry."

"Of course.  It's nice to finally meet you Harry." I nod in return.  "I wonder if I could speak with you and Remus alone please?" and just as soon as she says it, Mrs. Weasley begins shooing everybody out the door and down the hall, closing the door behind them.  "Do you always travel around with a group that big?" she asks with a sly smile.

"Yes," Remus replies, "unfortunately it is something of a necessity."

"Raging fans in the streets?" she asks.

"I wish," is his solemn reply.

With a non-definitive "hmm," she turns to me just as the door flies open again and Kevin comes sliding on his shoes into the room, closing the door behind him.  

"Healer Hantke find out what you've been telling people again?" she asks amusedly.

"Not yet! Don't blow my cover!" he replies with a laugh, but with a glance at the scene before him, Remus and I sitting on my bed with Healer Rainer standing in front of us, he quickly straightens up, professional on a cue and pulls a chart out of nowhere to begin taking notes.  The change is startling and complete and for a moment I find it hard to believe that this studious looking guy was a carefree, prank pulling jokester just seconds ago.

"I'd like you to tell us what's been happening, Mr. Potter.  Why are you here?  And is there something we can do to make you feel better here?"

For a moment I sit shocked.  _They want me to talk?  To them?  About stuff I refuse to even tell my best friends?  No way!_

"Harry?" she prompts.

When I don't say anything again, Remus says cautiously in my stead, "I'm sorry, he hasn't talked to anyone in just over three weeks save this morning, not counting myself, but our conversations are pretty few and far between as well."

"I see," she replies.  "We shall have to find a way to remedy that.  We can't help you if you can't tell us what's wrong…"

I know I have to do it.  If I don't tell them then there's nothing for it and if they don't know the whole story… but I just can't tell them all of it now.  I don't even know them.  I don't know if I can trust them.  

"You can trust us, Harry," she says lightly.  _Am I really that obvious?_  I suppose so.  But they can't do anything until I make the first move.  The world has always been on my shoulders, but now I need to start taking care of myself.

"Do I have to tell you all of it now?" I ask.  I can't believe the look I see on Remus' face from the corner of my eye, but it is understandable.  Not only were my conversations with Charlie and Mrs. Weasley the first time I'd spoken to anybody in a long time, this was the first time I'd spoken to a group of people in those same three weeks.  He looks happy and proud, but there's something there that says he's also sad too.  I wonder why.

"No, you don't," Healer Rainer says, "It might help us, but if you don't feel comfortable telling us all of it at once, you may do it in pieces.  You can always speak with me or Kevin or somebody else on the staff...  If you would like to tell one of your friends and have them write it down, or you could write it yourself… it doesn't matter who you tell, Harry, as long as somehow the whole story comes out.  Understand?"

I nod again.  "Yes, ma'am."

"Very good," she says lightly.  She seems very understanding, but I suppose that's part of her job.  "Can you tell us, generally, why you are here?  You don't have to tell us anything specific." She moves to sit in a chair across from us, Kevin doing the same.  She's trying to level the field, make herself seem less ominous so that I'm the one in control.  Even though I see through her subtle tricks, I can't help but feel comforted in them although something tells me I should be insulted that she thinks I don't see it.

Even so, I hesitantly say, "I can't sleep."

"Why?" she encourages.

"I keep remembering stuff."  It doesn't get much more general than that.

"Can you tell me what kind of stuff?" she tries.

"Bad memories, from earlier this summer," I add, knowing she'll ask.

"Can you tell me about one?"

"Can I tell you later?" I ask.

She looks a little dejected but replies in the affirmative.  "Sure.  Why don't you go ahead and get settled in while Kevin and I get some paperwork done?  We'll be back in a little while."

I want to say 'Thanks,' but it's strange enough talking to all of these people when I haven't done it in so long, so I just nod gratefully and they both walk out the door.

"That was good, Harry," Remus says, "If you just keep talking to them you'll be out of here before you know it."  I nod again and begin putting what few sets of clothes I've brought into a chest of drawers on the other side of my bed, the sunlight warm and blinding.  "Are you going to be okay tonight?" he asks quietly.

I sigh, shoulders drooping.  "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"  I can hear the desperation in his breath and before he can speak again, I ask him one more question that's been bothering me for quite some time.  I know I won't be able to say it without my voice cracking.  "Remus," I begin, "am I safe here?"

"Yes Harry, of course you're safe here."  I can feel the tears starting to spill.  "The spell isn't on a house, it's on you.  Hey," he says, walking around my bed to come over to me, "it's okay.  They won't find you here.  You're going to be alright."

I nod quickly, trying to wipe them all away before too many fall, before my eyes turn all red and I embarrass myself even further.  

"Just remember, don't tell anybody who you are other than Kevin and Ms. Rainer.  I talked to Professor Dumbledore, he said that you can talk to other people about what happened but as long as they don't hear your name and that you're here from you or me, they won't realize that it is you.  And it has to be your full name; you'll be fine."

"Okay," I struggle to get out.  I've been stressing over that question nearly six days now; it's been forefront in my mind without a hint of letting go and now that it has, I inexplicably feel that I have to cry about it.  

"What's wrong?" he asks, squinting against the sun.

"I'm sorry, I've just… I've been really worried about that all week and then we got here and I was worried I'd be stuck here-"

"It's alright," he cuts me off.  "Nothing is going to happen here.  There is always somebody here for you even if The Order is not.  Just remember that and everything will be…" he falters.  He looks really pale all of sudden.  "Everything will be… fine…"

"Oh, no," I whisper.  _The windows!  I help him sit down and with as much speed as possible, I close the blinds.  _

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm fine…" he says with effort.  He looks on the verge of passing out.  "I just… I just need to sit here for a few minutes is all…" he trails.

"No, you need to go home," I tell him firmly.  True, it's the last thing I want, but it's what has to be done.

"No, it's not even ten o'clock in the morning yet.  I'm not just going to leave you here so soon," he argues.

"You have to," I say.  It must sound pretty final because he looks at me kind of strangely as he sits there in the dark.  I can't let him do this to himself just for me.  It's not fair, nor is it right. He looks down slowly; his appearance just screams exhaustion.  With any luck he'll be better in the morning…

After a few moments, I ask him again how he feels and he tells me a convincing-enough "better," so I help him up and slowly we walk out to the waiting room of the hospital where the remnants of my escort, some of the final members of The Order of the Phoenix, await.

~

Authors Note:  Do you know how exciting it is to see that you have 13 reviews, and then post a new chapter and see no more than 5 minutes later that you have 14 reviews? It is like, the coolest feeling in the world! ANYwhoo… all my reviewers rock my socks!  So this one's for all you cool cats out there: Terence (no, I am not planning on being a real writer… sadly I have nothing real to say!), Wiccan PussyKat, ParanoiaIn2005 (Thanks for the review!  It totally brightens my day!), Kate, Rubberduckie713, jaycee, cb, Kimmy 2, leggo-my-legolas (I love your name!), alternativelysliced (your name rocks too!), Katie, Melissa, anzie and angel74!   Anywhoo, chapter 4!

Hope everyone is doing well!  See ya!

~Tini


	5. The Remedy

January 30, 2004

Disclaimer:  I claim Kevin! But you can keep Voldemort.

Authors Note:  I LOVE reading reviews from you people!! It makes me all giddy-happy like I'm four years old or something!  You have no idea! And as always, this chapter is for you guys!  Angel74, Wiccan PussyKat (all will soon be revealed!), ParanoiaIn2005, lyss33, jaycee, Mel49, ginny5, ally, leggo-my-legolas, alternativelyspliced (I noticed I forgot the "p" in "spilced" last time, but it was intended to be there!), and terence.  Hope you all enjoy it and here we go!

~

I don't think my body has ever felt so damaged.  It hurts to move, it hurts to lie still, and I'm genuinely surprised that it doesn't hurt to breathe.  I don't know how many days have gone by anymore.  Somehow I've lost count of their passing.  Something happened recently, but I can't remember what.  My memories draw short and a blank void is all that will come to me.  My forehead rests on the floor, it's cooler there and I lay half on my side and half on my front, one of my palms pressed firmly to the hardwood slats.  The fireplace is blocked behind the wide, green sofa and I can only pray for its comforting heat to finally reach me, regretting that I can't just go to it myself.

"Get up, Potter," a voice suddenly growls at me.

I press my palm harder against the floor to raise myself, but I can't.  It hurts too much.  

"Get UP!" the voice screams, and I feel the sharp, sudden impact of a boot against my waist, kicking me back into the wall that I lie against.  "Now!"

The world is blank again.  The pain reverberates through my frame and consumes all of my thoughts and senses.  My stomach aches horribly and my mouth dries like a barren desert.  Not even precious saliva is formed to wet my parched throat.  The hardwood floor sends chills through my body, my fingers trembling of their own accord.  

I'm so tired.

"Obey when you are spoken to, vermin!" another man's voice shouts.  A hand gruffly takes hold of my robes and pulls me to my hands and knees, but suddenly the aid is gone and I find myself collapsing back to the floor, unable to support my own weight.  The maniacal laughter seems far away, as if shrouded by a thick fog and I try to breathe again; the fall, however short, has knocked the wind out of me.  

"Up!" the new voice shouts again, this time hauling me all the way to my feet and, numbly, without any true thought behind it, I press my hands against the wall, some deep part of my mind telling my knees to hold out for just a little longer.  

"Look at little bitty-baby Potter!" a woman's voice pierces into my ears.  

_Where do I know that voice from?_ I think through a blood pressure headache, a wince consuming my features, my knees sinking a little lower toward the ground.

"Can't even stand up without help!  What's the matter baby-Potter?  Not feeling as strong as you were earlier this week?" she cackles.  Bellatrix Lestrange.  I can't catch my breath standing up like this, it's just not working and I'm starting to shake again.  Somehow I know I am.  I lean over, pressing my forehead against the wall as well, waiting for the white veil that has overcome me to pass.  

"Come with me, Potter," a man's voice now says.  "The master of your fate is waiting for you."

_No_, I inwardly moan.  _Not him… anyone but him… Please, God, don't make me go to him again!  Please, make this stop…_

"Move," he says, and with a great shove I stumble towards the door, hands clasping the frame to prevent the inevitable fall.  My limbs are shaking as the unknown man continues to walk me down a hallway to another room.  His large hands grip my forearms with immense force from behind, both pushing and supporting me as we go.  The silence confuses me.  Normally the jeers from the Death Eater would have been relentless but this silence is strange; should I be glad for the break? Or worried for what lies ahead?  I don't have much time to numbly toy with the matter before I hear a door click and feel the shattering impact of my knees on the floor just as my scar explodes with pain and I slam my eyes shut, praying for an end.

_Our Father, who art in heaven…_

The agony is inescapable.  The noise is so terribly loud.

_…for ever, and ever.__  Amen._

Groggily, I open my eyes some hours later and suddenly I know I'm not sleeping.

~

"Harry?" someone asks me and I jolt awake.  I'm in the hospital, the room is dark, and Kevin is looking at me… he looks worried.  _Why did I have to dream about something like that so soon?_ I wonder.  "What's going on?" he finishes.

I shake my head willing the remnants of the fear to dissipate, but I know I have to say something, he won't leave until I do.  "Nothing…" I stutter, "just another b-bad memory."

He sits down at the foot of my bed, giving me the once over.  "Are you alright?" he asks.

I nod again.  If only these dreams or memories or whatever they are would stop.  _Why can't they just go away?_

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

This time I shake my head.  _Do I really want to commit initial-reaction-respect suicide? No.  I think I'll bask in the fact that you don't think I'm a freak yet a little longer, thank you._

"_Will_ you tell me about it?" he asks more cajolingly, swinging his feet up to sit crossed legged facing me.  

Another shake.

"I'm sorry, kid," he sighs, "but you've got to tell me.  We can't help you unless you open up to us.  I mean, sure, you've only been here a few hours, but the sooner you start the sooner you're likely to go home which I'm sure is highest on your list of priorities right now."

Miserably, I look down.  _Why do I have to do this?  I wish Remus were here again_. "I know," I say, "but it's like you said, I just got here.  It's only 12:30 in the afternoon."

All he offers me is a grim sort of half-smile, both of us knowing that he can't go against orders.  Grimly, I look back at him and sigh.  "I just have to tell you about what I remembered, right?"

"If you want," he replies lightly.  Somehow I think he must do this a lot.  There's no judgment, no haste in his voice.  He says it as if we've known each other for years, not hours, two of which I've spent unconscious.  "You can tell me about anything you want.  Your dog even, if it has anything remotely to do with it," he adds with a soft smile.

I try to smile back.  I wonder if I _can_ tell anybody about Sirius.  _He is dead, after all, I think bitterly, __what can they do now?  Somehow get his body back and **bury** him in Azkaban?  _

"Harry?" he says to break my thoughts.

"I wasn't really in my mind, then," I start, only wishing to get it over with as soon as possible.  Maybe if I say things about the memories that are general, things that don't really tell anything, then they'll be satisfied and they leave me alone for awhile.  "Everything was really hazy," I continue, "the days all blurred together."

I pause for a moment.  _What **can I tell them?  How much is too much?  **_  

"That's good, Harry," I hear Kevin say.  "That's really good.  You can keep going."

I look up at him briefly.  All he's showing is encouragement.  I start again, looking down to my lap.  "I didn't ever know what day it was or what time it was because my watch was broken.  They smashed it to make me pay attention," I say quietly.  _Why did I just tell him that? I suddenly scream at myself in my mind._ I thought I was going to speak generally here!_  Quickly I jump back on track, "They were always pushing me around… and on really bad days they'd take me to see Voldemort," I finish in a whisper.  _

I can't look at him at all anymore.  How can I?  He's going to be just like everyone else.  I know his face is either covered with fan-like adoration that I've survived another encounter with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or with fear that I've spoken the abomination's name aloud.  But when he asks, "Was that why you got quiet in your sleep all of sudden?" I look up.  His face hasn't changed.  It's the same gently inquisitive look that he gave me earlier, no trace of raging emotion beyond the calm, intellectual façade he now wears.

"Yeah," I let out slowly, "I suppose you could say that… I don't remember much about meeting him in that part that was just brought back to me.  I just remember feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up and feeling like my head was going to explode and then waking up in another room.  I really don't know what happened in the hours that I was trapped with him.  I don't think I want to."  After a long pause, I ask, "Is that good enough?"

He kind of looks me over, studying me for a moment before saying, "Yeah, that's fine.  But can I ask you one question?"

"If I'm not bound to answer it," I reply warily.

"How would them smashing your watch make you pay attention?  It's just some glass and metal," he askes with confusion.

"Because I was still wearing it," I say and pull back the sleeve covering my left hand to reveal the tiny remnants of scars where watch bits had been imbedded in the back of my wrist.  The room is silent.  That must not have been the answer he was looking for, but then it wasn't the one Remus had been expecting either.  After a moment I replace my sleeve, pulling my knees to my chest and hugging them tightly.  I just wish this could be over with.

"You know," he began, "the real reason I came in here earlier wasn't to torture you or make you upset…  I came to give you this."  From under the clipboard in his lap he pulls out a deep cerulean book with gold plating in an ancient weave framing the cover, a Celtic Maze symbol emblazoned in the upper center.  "It's a journal," he explains, handing it over to me, "so that you can write stuff down when you don't want to tell us or you don't think you can tell us.  There's nothing to it, really, just grab a quill and scratch away.  You have to understand, though, that Healer Rainer and I will read it.  We may ask you questions about things you pen and if you won't talk to us, we'll go to Remus.  Okay?"

I nod, clutching the book in my hands; there's a lot of emotion wrapped up in this event, not for him, of course, but for me.

"Speaking of Remus, why did he leave so early today?  He looked awful, he probably should have stayed here overnight," he commented, trying to change the subject.

"He gets migraines sometimes," I tell him somberly.  "They tend to get really bad when he gets sick or stressed out or really tired." _Or when the full moon is coming up.  "He wanted to stick around but I wouldn't let him.  I told him to go home and get some rest."_

"Was he mad?"

"I don't think so.  A little upset maybe, but I don't think he was feeling well enough to be mad.  I should have noticed he was getting one this morning when we were talking on the staircase at home, but I didn't.  It didn't click until he almost passed out here because of the open windows that I realized what was going on.  It's almost always the bright light that brings them on.  Usually, if it's just starting, if he can sit in the dark for awhile it will go away… this time it did."

"Well, he still could have stayed here-" he began.

"No, he wouldn't have liked it here.  He feels much better when he's at home," I say, it's not really the truth, but it's not really a lie either.

"Well, I'm sorry.  I can tell how much he means to you.  Maybe he'll be back tomorrow, you think?"

"I hope so…" _I really, really do_.  Giving me one last encouraging look, he begins to walk to the door towards the hallway, but turns around to speak just before he's gone.

"Are you hungry, Harry?  It is about lunch time.  I can have Healer Hantke come up and take your order for the cafeteria," he adds with a mischievous smile and thoughts of the Weasley twins come bubbling to my mind.

~

There ya go!  Sorry about not updating in awhile but I did have good reason for not posting!  First I left my power cable for my laptop at school over the three day weekend *sob* and the next weekend one of my friends had borrowed my comp and not returned it! *grrr* So now I've had time to work something out and doo-doo-da-doo! Chapter 5! Yay!  

Anywhoo, I need to run this by you guys.  I came up with this really fun, crazy idea because I like weird interactive stuff and I want to know what you think. As some of you have (hopefully) noticed, all of my chapter titles are song related… chapters 3-5 are actual song titles and 1 and 2 are lyrics from songs… so here's the (I think) fun, interactive part if anybody wants to take me up on it.  If you can tell me who sings the songs from chapters 3-5 and/or what song chapters 1 and 2 come from (2 is actually "she" though), then I'll write you into the story in some form, whether it be a character, spell name or something else super cool like that!  Stooooopid idea?  Or maybe fun?  I don't know… I'd do it! But I'm kinda strange!  

In any case, I hope you enjoyed reading it because I liked writing it!  Happy Weekend!

         ~Tini :D

p.s. "blood pressure headaches" are like, when you've been lying around watching t.v. for five hours in a practically comatose state and then you stand up and everything goes white.  What happens is that you're heart isn't ready to have to pump your blood up to your head against gravity like that so suddenly, so you're actually kind of NOT getting as much/enough blood/oxygen to your brain when it happens!  Just in case you were wondering.


	6. Beauty and the Mess

February 17, 2004

Disclaimer:  The fortune cookie knows my secret destiny, but alas, owning Potter is not part of that mysterious fate.

Authors (Long) Note:  Hey all, as I'm sure you can tell, school has started for me again, thus the month in between updates.  I'm sorry, but that's the way things work in the life of Tini.  Anywhoo!  I had some winners in the song title contest, be on the lookout for _Jaycee_!  Congrats to _ParanoiaIn2005_ and _lyss33_ as well (I'm still trying to figure out how to sneak your names in, but they will be in there!)  They collectively nabbed Evanescence's "Hello" (The inspiration of this fic) and Jason Mraz's "The Remedy." Thanks to all who reviewed (I want to write you all up here but there's getting to be a LOT of you now! *yay!*), you guys always make me smile, and sometimes giggle! :D 

Some of you may notice (if you're reading this for the second time) that there's been a little bit of a format change.  It was pointed out to me that the breaks between dream and reality can be hard to see so I tried to fix that without muddling up the flow.  Basically what I'm trying to say is, when you get to the end, don't pause in between the sections; keep reading at your usual pace.  Pretend the marks aren't there!  I also changed the quotation-like marks around some of the italics for more or less the same reason.

And one last thing… Our friend _ParanoiaIn2005_ has written a fic, ladies and gentlemen, and it rocks my socks!  It'll rock YOUR socks too, so lets go get this girl some reviews, shall we?

Now that the notes are done, let's get on with the show!  Chapter 6!

~

As 3 o'clock strikes, I sit in my bed, wondering what I can possibly do to pass the time.  I have flipped through the pages of Kevin's journal a few times, inspecting the symbol on the front and all around just turning it over in my hands.  But there's not much an empty book can do to hold your attention and I don't really feel like writing anything in it right now.  I'm glad for it though; it feels as if I can breathe a bit easier again and I'm sure it will be easier to work with than actually talking to people.  I'm surprised I've said as much to them as I already have, it always seems to make me feel guilty for some reason.  I always get at least a little anxious every time that I know I'll have to do it; I think I'm afraid that I'll end up giving something away that other people shouldn't know, whether about myself or otherwise.  It's a feeling that I want to work past, but am too afraid to do, especially considering the consequences.

I lay the book aside and flop back on my bed once again.  It feels nice, oddly enough.  I imagined that it would be hard or lumpy or smelly at least, but it isn't.  My eyes fight to close, my mind begging for sleep that it desperately needs despite how much it steals when I least want it to.  

'No,' a voice in my head demands, 'if you sleep, you'll dream and that is the last thing that you want!'

But I need to sleep even if I know what will happen.  The dreams about _him_ will always be looming.  

'If you stay awake then all you're missing out on is the idea of rest, the imaginative fairy tale that you _used_ to believe in,' the voice says.

But I can't just keep fighting it, no matter how much I hate the reminiscing.  My body and mind need rest, no question about it.  There has to be something that I've overlooked that will make them go away, anything to make the nightmares stop.

'You know there isn't anything,' the voice continues.  'Just come to terms with it, kid.  Sleep doesn't make anything go away.  It only makes things worse.' With a great gulp, I roll to my side and give into the will of my body.  Despite the knowledge that no rest will be found this afternoon, I drop into sleep and succumb to the pleas of at least half of my mind.

~

I open my eyes and find a familiar scene before me.  The large, mostly wooden room lies to my back; there is sunlight streaming in through the windows, the dusty old curtains having been pulled off to the side.  My head is to the windows, my face buried in my arm towards the wall.  Not even the sunlight is a welcome sight to me anymore; all I can do is lie still, breathe carefully, and pray that I am left alone.

I hear the door open far past the range of my feet, a man's voice saying, "Calhoun, your shift is up."

Another man's voice above me makes a knowing sound asking, "Do you want me to wait here until you're done?"

"No, what do you take me for?" the new man demands.  "A weakling?  An imbecile?  He can't do anything in this state and _as your superior_, if you insult me like that one more time I will have your head.  Now _go_."

The man above me, Jaycee Calhoun, makes an angry sort of snort before stomping past me on the floor, making my bones hurt even more than they already do, the reverberations splintering my shoulder and hip bone as he crosses to the door.  It is all that I can do to prevent anything more than a whimper to escape my throat.

"And make sure the door latches on the way out you great slob," and the door is promptly slammed in response.

After a moment, steps begin to approach me again and I tense up in spite of the pain that it induces.  There is a noise above my head that sounds like something being set down carefully and I squeeze my eyes shut.

'_What are they going to do to me now?  Aren't the Unforgivables and everything else they put me through enough?  Now they have to revert to Muggle torture too?_' I pitifully think.

Against my will, visions of early American mental institutions come to mind.  Visions showing men forcing tubes through people's nostrils to their stomachs so they can be force fed and I scrunch up closer to the wall, a hand held defiantly over my nose.

"Potter, open your eyes."  That voice is familiar.

"Take your hand down.  You must open your eyes if you want me to help you," he whispers, but I can't.  They stay tightly shut until a hand reaches for my shoulder.  "I can't help you eat if you won't let me."

Hearing that phrase makes me quake on the floor in an even tighter ball than ever.  The mere thought of food makes my stomach churn horribly and with this new fear, I can feel the sweat starting to sprout on my forehead.

"Come on, Potter, you have to fight against this.  You won't be able to hold out much longer if you don't eat something."  It's the voice of Professor Snape.  A voice that I have only just started to trust, and I know that I must trust him now.

ﺶ _Can you open your eyes?_ ﺶ

Fighting a wave of nausea, I nevertheless shake my head, still buried in my arm.  I can't do it.  It will only come back and I'll get into even more trouble than before.

"Drink this," he says, and I can hear a rustle of fabric before a vial finds its way to my lips.  I try to turn away from it but his other hand has reached beneath my head; he won't let me get away.  "Please," he says as close to neutrally as possible, "it will make you feel better and it won't be making a second appearance, guaranteed in its ingredients."

A wet salty drip being absorbed into the sleeve of my dirty robes, I fight the urge to vomit and let Snape help me choke down the potion, spluttering some of it onto the wall and the floor before me.  It tastes like cement but goes down smoother than yogurt and a strange tingling sensation sweeps over my body.  His hand rests on the back of my neck, the other on my chest, apparently waiting to see if I really can keep it down.  My stomach gives a horrible lurch and immediately the hand on my chest slides down to my stomach, the other hand jumping to my forehead, but everything stays in and I swallow painfully, desperately gasping for the empty air amidst the musty dirt-ridden floor.

"It's okay, Potter, it will stay down.  It should make everything else stay down too," he says and after a moment of careful observation, he replaces the vial into his robes.  "I want you to try some bread," he says and shortly after I can feel its texture against my lips, its smell invades my nostrils.

Hungrily, but warily, I accept the small, dry piece and chew it until it has practically disintegrated in my mouth before attempting the swallow.  Gently, he feeds me four more small pieces, all of which show no signs of being brought back up.

"That's good, boy, very good," he says.  My impressions of the Potions Master have changed in the last few days, and already I fear for his safety.

Soon, a short glass is brought to my lips and the taste of water laps against them.  I have prayed for this the most in the last few days despite the illness that ravaged me and I instinctively try to drink it quickly before it is gone.

"Slow and steady," Snape commands, holding me up to prevent the inevitable dribbling that would otherwise occur.  "That's enough," he says after a few desperate mouthfuls, and pulls the water away from me to where I can't reach it.  "You can't handle much more than that yet…  If you fight it, you will get better."  Coughing again, he lays my head back down on my arm, leaving his hand across my chest, willing me to relax again.  Three breathes before I've reached that blissful state of calm I feel a sudden sharp pain in my head.  I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, screwing up my face in an effort to block it out and he immediately jumps from the floor to the door along the wall above my head.  _He's here_.

The creaking of the door is like the ominous rumblings of a deadly electric storm and I tell my body to stop shaking, to not show its weakness, but it proves difficult.  I demand anybody to defy me when they feel like they're having nails driven into their temples.

I swallow hard, trying to fight down the pain as the footsteps approach, echoing in my ears, sending quakes through my frame.  He can't be less than ten feet away from me and already I feel sick again.  He knows this.  

'_Our Father_…' I start again, hoping against hope that my faith will bring me through this.  

"Mr. Potter, awake once more.  Severus, close the blinds.  Potter is much too old for a night light."  Within the whisper of a spell, the once brightly lit room of two in the afternoon has become the deepest night, only the glow of the fire providing light.  "Much better," he sneers and begins to move toward me as I force myself to my hands and knees.  I may not have much strength left but I won't let him control me.  

"Oh, Potter, you don't need to rise and bow to me.  Seeing you sprawled on the floor is enough of a show of respect," he says malevolently. 

"Don't think so highly of yourself," I manage out with as much spite as I can. "I need to go the bathroom."

"Pardon me?" Lord Voldemort says.  "Did you say something to me?  Something that perhaps wasn't too polite?"  I can see him twirling his wand dangerously in my direction but I refuse to be deterred.

"I need… to go… to the bathroom," I repeat weakly, but intentionally with the spaces; anything to show The Dark Lord that I still defy him.

"And why is that?" he taunts.  "Can't take the pressure in your head?  Need to escape the big bad wizard?  Or do you just want to hide like a weak, little Mudblood?" he spits.

"No," I gasp, now positive of what is happening. "I need to- I think I'm going to-" and it happens.  I throw up all over the floor beneath me, not for the first time.  For some reason his affect on me has been strengthened, what used to take very specific happenings now occur with only the slightest hint of his presence.

I can see him watching me from the corner of my eye, perched in place and awaiting the perfect moment to come in for the kill.  After a moment, he speaks.  "You got my floor dirty," he says dangerously.  I've heard that tone before.  "And do you remember what happens when you get my things dirty?" 

"Do you remember what happens when I tell you I have to go to the bathroom?" I retort weakly, working on spitting remnants of it onto the floor.  Before I can make any move for shielding myself, he kicks me in the side with all of the strength he can muster.  Over and over and over again until it feels like my ribcage is going to implode with the pressure. 

ﺶ _Why is this happening?_ ﺶ

I quickly realize that his timing is impeccable; each strike hits me just before I can breathe in.  There is no hope for air coming back to my lungs; they are burning without oxygen to exchange.  

When his boot nails me for the ninth time, I can't hold it back anymore.  The kick forces everything that's left in me out, Snape's potion included; the cement taste makes me gag.  By the time I can open my eyes, I realize that's he's stopped and with a sickening thought, I see him bending over the floor, inspecting what used to be inside me carefully. He squats closer to me than he has been in a few days.  I force myself to pull my knees up below me so that I'm actually laying over them should he decide to continue, my head buried as far into the cold, hard wood as it can get, my back pressed firmly in the wall.  I turn my head to look at him, to try and size up what he is doing, when suddenly he speaks.

 "Severus, what is this?" he murmurs quietly.  "This is not supposed to be here.  I was under the impression that we were giving him bread and water, but this here looks different.  Would you care to explain it to me?"

_Please, God, don't let Snape get hurt_.

"What does it look like, my Lord?  I cannot see it from over here."

"Well, it looks like chalk, only in a grey swirled potion, no more than twenty minutes old," he says innocently, but I've learned that the innocent voice is when he is most dangerous.

"I don't know how that got there, My Lord.  Perhaps in his close proximity with the floor, he has been breathing in the dust that has settled and thence forth swallowed it."

 ﺶ _Have you seen anything like this before?_ﺶ

"We shall see," Voldemort retorts, unconvinced. "I leave it to you to find out about this and inform me as soon as possible.  I've got my eye on you, Severus.  Let it be known that you are being watched.  If you fail me or betray me, your fate will be similar to _this_!"  

΅

With a sudden force of strength, I throw my eyes open, almost a second too late, but I am still bombarded with the painful tingle through my bones, my flesh and I cry out and writhe in my cold hospital bed.  

"Go get me a Mother Blanket!" someone shouts.  "Down the east hall to the children's ward, go!"  

My ears are ringing so badly I can't hear anything in the outside world.  I close my eyes again, praying for the needle sharp pricks to pass.  With my eyes closed, I continue to see the scene I know too well.

΅

The door slams and he is gone.  I can breathe again.  After a moment I can hear a rush of fabric and again, a hand is against my forehead, another hand pressed against my stomach, now to the ceiling.  The voice from the mask is hushed and urgent.

"Potter, stay awake, boy, come on.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  Rookwood told me that _he_ wasn't coming in today but it looks like he's higher up in the circle than I am now, high enough to be told to lie to me.  I never would have given that to you if I knew he was coming in.  Just stay awake boy, just for a few minutes.  Don't give him your mind!  Don't let him in, Harry.  Listen to me!"

΅

"You have to wake up, Harry. Listen to me!"  Hands race over my torso, shaking me into waking up, an unfamiliar incantation being whispered rapidly and continuously.  The hands fly over my arms and legs, even my face, stopping on my temples, my eyes, and the back of my neck.

I can't stop shaking.  The spell isn't taking full hold of me, but it feels close just the same.  Another blanket is suddenly thrown over me, new and old incantations whispered with the greatest of speed.  The tingling starts to dissipate, starting with my fingers and toes, traveling up my arms and legs, returning my regular strength to them as if they were never gone.  I'm suddenly aware of a hand resting just above my ankle, another resting on my wrist.  As the tingling sweeps up to converge at my spine, I tense up tighter than ever, preparing for the shock of pain.  It travels swiftly up to my mind and with a great breath it's gone.  My whole body relaxes so quickly I can feel people jumping up around me, most likely trying to see if I'm okay.  

"Harry?" the same voice asks.  "Harry, talk to me, pal.  What's going on?  What can I do to help you?"  It's Kevin.

ﻬﻫ _ Just relax, sweetheart, you're safe here.  You're safe here with me. _ﻬﻫ

With a cough and a held back sob I let only one word out.

"Remus."

~

Final notes:  Thank you again to all of my reviewers!! You guys rule!  

Thanks to ShardWing who tried in the song contest (and I must say, for a minute I actually thought you were dying with that last review until I thought about it!), alternativelyspliced (you probably would know them when you heard them), and Ally, but I must giggle, Ally, chapter four IS a country song!  Think early 1990's….  

Hope you all are having fantabulous weeks and best wishes for good ones!

Lovin' the Valentines Day cookies,

       ~Tini :D


	7. This is Your Life

February 22, 2004

Disclaimer:  "And then they made me their chief."  But no, I don't own Harry Potter.

Authors Note:  Good Gracious!  Two chapters up in a week?!  With all the work I have to do?!  Heehee… hope you enjoy it!  Thanks to all of you guys for reviewing!  And all of my new kids!  Hurray!!  So here's to you:

angel74, Rubberduckie713, anzie, Kimmy2, ParanoiaIn2005 (look for your REAL name! and I loved the long review!), Melissa, Terence, Wiccan PussyKat (wish for Remmie granted!), Kate (glad to have you back!), jaycee (sorry if you didn't want to "be" a guy, but are YOU in for a surprise in this chapter!), cb, leggo-my-legolas, alternativelyspliced, Katie, lyss33 (I got you in and THANK YOU for the comment about the dream/reality confusion!), Mel49, ginny5, ally, ShardWing, blank, SilverDragonHawk, Luna Potter/Took (still confused?), chips challenge, NightSpear, -minGzie-, Teenage Drama Queen, Bandersnatch, SheWolfe7, Japonica, and Nemati!

You guys ROCK MY SOCKS, no kidding!  I really hope you like this chapter 'cause I had an absolute BLAST writing it, mostly in one 24 hour period too!  It's a little peek into the other side of the looking glass you could say. *winks* 

Oh, one last thing…two potty mouth words in this one.  I couldn't find a way around them that still meant the same! Sorry! Alright, no more talking for me, here you go, my wonderful friends! Chapter 7 of "I Know I'm Not Sleeping!"

~

"Look, I'm feeling much better now, will you please just leave me alone for a little while?" I ask.  Ever since I got home all Molly has done is pester me to death.  

"Honestly, Remus-" she starts.

"No, it was just a headache and it's gone now so will you just sit down or something?"

She looks at me a bit skeptically but she does what I ask, sitting across from me on my fairly worn, brownish couch.  "Brown-ish" only because it's so old.  The tan color has darkened with everyday use or lack there of.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asks softly, just as all mothers do, but before I can answer she stands and walks off adding, "I'll go make you a sandwich."

With Molly gone, I have no choice but to admit to myself that I never thought my life would go this way.  Who ever imagines themselves in their early forties shifting jobs more often than humanly possible and fighting an insane evil while trying to take care of their best-friend's son whom people now think is borderline psychotic?  No one.  

_What is happening to my life?_  

I drop my head to my hands, rubbing at my tired eyes.  All I want to do is sleep and I toy with the idea of just lying down where I sit and embracing a fulfillment of my sleep debt.  However, just as I am about to take myself up on the offer, Molly Weasley walks back in, a simple ham and cheese sandwich on a plate, a glass of orange juice in her other hand.  She sits down next to me very carefully and passes the plate over which I set on my lap.

"I thought you might want something to drink too," she says, as if in explanation for the juice but the real meaning for it is quite clear.  There are two aspirin on my plate.  She knows I still feel like shit.

"Thanks," I say quietly and take a bite of the sandwich so she knows that I'll actually eat it.  For being just a plain bread and ham, it's pretty good.  I chew it thoughtfully, rubbing the back of my neck with my right hand.  I know she is watching me but I just continue to look straight ahead.  I take another bite and just sit there.  I don't know whether I should feel dejected or happy or upset or uncomfortable under her relentless staring; it's all just one big mess and I'm hoping against hope that I'm hiding it well enough.  Did Harry _not_ want me there?  Is he mad at me, for leaving or otherwise?  Is he embarrassed about being there?  Is he scared?  Will he talk to them?  Will he talk to _me_?  Will he get help and come out stronger than ever?  Or will he just continue to stumble down this path before him until the fall proves too great to overcome?  

_Will you please stop staring at me?_

I pick up the two white tablets from the plate, sliding them over my fingers for a moment before actually taking them.  At least my headache might go away for a time.  I hear her make this held-back relieved-sigh sort of sound and finally she sits back on the couch, leaning on the arm rest casually.  

I take a few more bites of my sandwich until it's about half gone before laying the plate on the coffee table and scooting back on the couch, but I remain hunched forward, elbows on knees.  

"Severus said he was planning on calling today, he didn't say what time," she informs me.  "We spoke through the fireplace while you were talking to Bill on the stairs."  I nod in return and check my watch.  12:15. He'll be coming with the Wolfsbane potion so it will have to be before six.  He always makes sure I have it at least an hour before the moon rises but there's supposed to be both a Death Eater and an Order meeting tonight; he could be here at any time.  

"Remus, why don't you try and get some rest before he comes?  You look dead where you sit and if you've got the moon tonight…" she trails.

I rub at my eyes with the heels of my hands and nod my agreement.  At least she was the one to bring it up and not me.  Now I'll be able to sleep as long as I can without interruptions from anybody else in the house.  If it's her idea, she'll see it through to the last possible second.

"I think I'll just go up to my room.  Will you knock on my door when he gets here?" I ask.

"Of course," she replies and I stand up to go, feeling and hearing the creaking in my knees.  I silently hope to God that it's only because of the moon tonight and that it's not a sign of old age.  I don't think I could deal with a mid-life crisis right now on top of everything else that is happening in the world, even in just my life.  

_How did things end up this way?_

"Just call me if you need anything," I say as I cross back toward the foyer, "but please make sure it's important."  As if I actually need to tell her that.

"Don't you worry.  I'll make sure the boys and Hermione don't make a sound."

I sort of wave my hand as I pass out of the room, a sign of recognition for her words at least, and start up the long, never-ending staircase.  It's very curious how things like staircases grow and become so difficult to master when you're tired.  I reach my room and close the door behind me, not bothering to change my clothes or even pull back the covers; I just lie down on my bed and immediately fall into a wonderfully deep sleep with only a second to pray that I won't dream.

~ ~

Severus was pacing in front of us.  He looked angry and worried, and when Severus Snape is worried, everyone else better be as well.

The room was dark; it had to be approaching one in the morning, we'd been there since just after midnight.  The green chairs intermingled with conjured wooden ones, the ornate couches serving as pews of sorts in the back of the room.  Moonlight shone through the emerald curtains bright enough that we didn't even bother to set up any lights.  The cobwebs had returned.  The dust had resettled.  None of us had been back in Sirius' old house since his wake.  That day had been so unbelievably hard.  Being back had too many strange sensations to deal with at once, but I was, thankfully, so engrossed in what Severus had to tell us that I was able to push them aside for a later time.

Not many of us were there.  Myself, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Arthur and Molly Weasley stood in sort of half circle in front of him.  Dung Fletcher, Mad-Eye Moody, Emmeline and Tonks were there as well, either standing or sitting expectantly in chairs around the room.

"Severus, is there anything that we can do to help you?" Dumbledore asked.

"No.  I still can't figure out where we are.  Since we just apparate there when the Mark calls, there is no way to tell.  I still haven't found anything distinguishable in the surrounding areas either."  He sounded so condescending of himself.  "Have you heard anything else from your side?"

"No.  Kingsley is trying to track down anything remotely suspicious for our cause and Elyssabeth has been watching the magical signature board for any extreme points of Dark magic in heavy concentration.  Not much has come up," Arthur supplied.  
"It won't either.  He's been careful with his magic of late because he knows Potter can combat it and he expects that we'll be on the lookout for it.  Tell Lyss to keep a close eye out, though.  I don't care if she has to check it 33 times every hour of the day, I don't think that he's going to restrain himself much longer.  He really has no reason to be afraid right now."  The tone in his voice said that something was wrong, possibly very wrong.  The time for action was fast approaching, but "why" was the key question.

"Severus," I asked apprehensively, "how bad off is he?"

He looked at me with a mixture of supremacy and sadness.  "He's been sick for three days now, this will be his fourth.  It's bad.  He refuses move because it proves too painful which the Dark Lord knows and is beginning to use to his advantage.  His fever is high, unnaturally high.  If he was at home, I am persuaded to believe that he would have been taken to the hospital a long time ago.  He's barely coherent and I will admit that I am worried about him.  When he first arrived- what was it?  Three weeks ago?- he was allowed to sit or sleep on the furniture by the fireplace in the room but he's since been banned to the floor in the back of the room, the farthest spot from the fire."

"But it's summer-" Tonks began and Severus promptly cut her off, sheer malice in his voice.

"Yes, Ms. Tonks, I am fully aware of that fact as I'm sure we all are, but the house is generally cold.  He's freezing on the floor because there are no carpets or blankets to absorb any heat.  The warmth of the fire is blocked by the furniture so he receives practically no heat at all.  He's far too ill to get up and move to the fireplace and if he did, I do not doubt that he would be severely punished for it.  He tries to eat but nothing stays down and the Dark Lord refuses to allow him water so he's dehydrated on top of everything.  There's practically nothing I can do for him because there has always been more than one Death Eater with him at a time.  It would be far too risky to try anything bold, for all of us, especially Potter."

The five of us standing up close to him all sighed in concern, all unadmittedly hiding defeat as well.  He paused as if waiting for some answer from anybody in the room.  

It wasn't long before Molly spoke up.  "You said practically."  

"Pardon me?" Severus asked.

"You said there was _practically_ nothing that you can do for him.  What do you have in mind?" she asked.

His expression was so hard to read.  It is no mystery that Severus hates Molly Weasley with a  burning passion, but amidst the disdainful look on his face, there also seemed to lie, what?  Pride?

"There is a new Death Eater that has come from France.  Jaycee Calhoun.  I think he is much like myself.  I am almost positive that he is a spy for the French government.  If he can help me, I might be able to buy us some time."

"But Severus, what if he is not?  You will have completely revealed yourself and will be put in harms way, not to mention endangering Harry and the Order," Dumbledore immediately responded.

"You think I don't know that?" he fought back incredulously.  "I have been doing this all my life, Albus.  It is because of _you_ that I have put myself in harms way.  It was for _Lily_ that got in so deeply.  You think I don't realize the risks lying ahead?"

"That's not what I'm implying-" he tried to respond back, but was also promptly cut off.

"I am not so stupid as to ask him straight out in the middle of the circle, Albus!  You and I both know that there are other means of finding the information you seek using one simple word."

"If you try and use Legilimency on him and he fights back you will have learned nothing and he will figure you for a spy.  If you do see what you want, he will also figure you for a spy.  This plan can go nowhere but to your death."

"If he proves nothing more than a common Death Eater I can easily lie and say that I was trying to see if loyalties were true to the Dark Lord.  If he is as I think, then I can arrange for a private meeting between him and I, with you there if you wish it, and we can formulate a plot for Potter's escape," Severus proceeded.  It sounded like a plausible plan.  

"But if he is a spy, he will also be trained in Occlumency and he may fool you into thinking that he is loyal, just as you do to every other Death Eater there is.  Not to mention that he could be pretending to be a spy for our side to try and find the mole that Voldemort knows is amongst his ranks.  There are too many "if's" in this plan Severus and I will not allow you to go through with it."  I have rarely heard Dumbledore sound so final.

"If you don't have faith in me to do what you have trained me for, then why am I here? I can do this Albus and I won't get caught.  I've been doing this for years but if you think that I am no longer capable of this position then you should have told me before I started caring.  If you don't think I can hack it, then I'll just stop helping you," he finished haughtily and strode between us for the door.  He stopped briefly in front of it, one hand on the knob, his head tilted down and a little towards us.  He had one last thing to say.

"Before he was sick he had both food in his stomach and a will to fight back.  Now he has neither.  He _will die_ unless you get him out of there before the weekend is out.  You'd better start thinking," and with a swish of his robes and a slam of the door, he was gone.

~ ~

"Lupin?  Are you awake?"

I open my eyes to hear the voice beyond my closed door and a soft knock along with it.  Sitting up and rubbing my eyes again I call, "Yes, I'm awake.  Come in," but I'm a little surprised to see Severus standing there instead of Molly.  _'Maybe I should pay more attention to voice pitches before I respond to them,_' I think with a smile and Severus steps into the room with a steaming goblet of the disgusting potion that has been proven many times over to be a God sent.

"Here," he says in his usual degrading voice and turns to go.

"Wait," I say.  "Have a seat.  I want to talk to you."

He turns back around and glares at me, glancing around the room with arrogance and disgust.  "I'll think I'll just stand, thanks."

I can see that having a quiet conversation with him is not going to happen so I jump right to the point.  He hates when people waste his time anyway.  "How are you holding up?"

"With what?  Potter being in St. Mungo's?  Good for him.  What do you really want to know, Lupin?" he drawls.

"I want to know how you're holding up," I repeat.  "You may not think it but we do care about you."

"I've had about enough of this conversation if you don't mind.  Drink your potion; I'll see you tonight," and he strides to the door once more.

"Why do you always have to keep things hostile between us?  Why do you always have to be the cold hearted loner?  That was a long time ago, Severus, can't you just put it behind you?" I ask in exasperation.  This is why we could never get over our differences; the man just refuses to show any emotion other than those fit for a Slytherin.  But he's stopped at the door.  My comments are either going to cause a storm, or a tsunami.  

For what feels like the longest time he stands there, perfectly still, looking dead ahead.  By the time I finally feel that he's not going to say anything at all, he carefully says, "I'd be better if Jaycee Calhoun hadn't been found out."

"What?" I ask incredulously, standing to walk over to him, "When?"

"This morning around 5:30.  He was talking in his sleep.  Totally gave himself away, and his family.  He was using a fake name."

"Are you serious?  Are you alright?  Did he say anything about you or Harry or the Order?"

He shakes his head angrily as if trying to release and restrain his fury all at once.

"That's all you care about, isn't it?" he practically explodes.  "Potter and the Order.  A good man just lost his life today and an innocent woman and her two children are being hunted as we speak!  But no, Potter remains safe so all is well in the world!" he yells.

"That's not what I meant.  I'm sorry, it all just came out without thinking.  But did he give you away?  Are you safe?" I try to mend.

"He didn't give me away.  He was so close I could hear the words, but he never let them out.  He was always so worried about her and his son and daughter.  They were always on his mind, they were all that he would talk about with me outside of business.  I just can't believe that they proved his downfall."  He pauses for a long time, head down.  I can't help but wonder if he's holding back tears.  After another long moment he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  "I watched him die," he finishes quietly.  I have never, in all my days, seen him like this.  His face, just moments ago so full of spite the devil himself would have fled, now only looks broken and frail, a reaction never given to James and Sirius no matter how hard they tried.  

"Why don't you sit down," I suggest more than ask, and I do manage to get him to sit on my bed.  "I'll go get you some coffee, I'll be right back."

"It's no use, Lupin," he says halfway into a daze, "no strong drink in the world can make this pass.  Not for the first time I have seen and realized that I am mortal, but for the first time I have seen one such as myself fall.  I couldn't save him.  It's not that I wouldn't, but I just couldn't.  I couldn't blow my fucking cover," he finishes, so completely angry with himself.

"It's not your fault," I reason with him.  "He knew what he was getting into.  _She_ knew what _they_ were getting into."

"You know," he says, emotions spiking yet again on the angry side, "you are just about the last person that I want to talk to about this.  Just take your potion, Lupin, and let it be.  Poppy will be by in a little while.  The potion is going to have an adverse reaction to your migraine but she'll give you something to combat that.  I'll see you this evening," and he stands up to leave once more.

"Severus, wait!" I say, following him down the hallway and to the landing.  "You can't just leave like this!"

"Well, I am," he replies vehemently.

"You can't just walk into a Death Eater gathering without talking to somebody about this!"

"I've just talked to you about it and I don't feel any better.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go prepare myself for the meeting which you wouldn't understand anyway.  Good day, Lupin," and he reaches for a fist full of Floo Powder, throwing it into the kitchen flames.

"Cara will be alright, Severus.  He'll never find her.  She's perfectly safe."

In a flash he's turned around, eyes wild and utmost fear and hatred on his face.  He crosses toward me until his face is so close to mine I can't properly focus on him anymore.

"Don't you dare speak about my wife again, Lupin, or I swear to God I will kill you myself."

He shoves me backward into the foyer and bellows "Hogwarts" before stepping into the emerald flames and disappearing in a roar of fire from my now quiet, dismal abode.

~

Wha oh, Tini created a little rift! hee hee hee… I'm so proud of this chapter so I REALLY hope you like it!  Song title contest is still on, but only for chaps that haven't been claimed (so no credit for 1 or 5)!  I hope you all have WONDEROUS weeks and I'll see you on the flip side!

A very giddy,

      ~Tini :D


	8. The Motivation Proclamation

March 11, 2004

Disclaimer:  While I can burn the s*** out of my leg with molten chain link fence, I just can't seem to buy the HP rights from J.K… I just don't get it.

Authors Note:  Hey all!  Long chapter this time so I hope you like it!  Since it's been awhile I'll let you just get on with it!  More notes at the bottom… Enjoy!

~

_With a cough and a held back sob I let only one word out._

_"Remus."___

~

"He's coming, Harry, we're getting him.  Just calm down, relax.  Everything is alright."

The sudden forced relaxation of my muscles makes me feel weak and trembly.  I lie very still although I want more than anything to get up and run; run out of the room, out of the hospital, out of my very life.  I just want to be normal.  Why I am always the one to be plagued with rescue and determination and nightmares?  Why does this always happen to me?

A hand brushes through my hair and comes to rest on my forehead.  "He'll be here in a moment, Harry, just hang on."  It's Charlie.

I nod even though I'm sure it's difficult to see and swallow through the lingering memory of pain long since passed.  It's always hungry for more.

I can feel my cheeks tinge a bit red from embarrassment and I turn my head to the side, trying to hide some of the shame.

"Don't think on it, kid, just focus on something else," Kevin says but I shake my head.  If only it were that simple.

I can feel the beginnings of a hot tear beginning to form in one of my sealed shut eyes so I try to bury my face and get rid of it before anyone notices.  

"He'll be here soon," Charlie repeats, and low and behold, the door to my room opens and I can hear his footsteps rush to my side.

"I knew I shouldn't have left," he says, "I knew that you would need me here," and he scoops me up to sit, just as he did last night and all I can focus on doing is breathing.  My forehead buried in his shoulder, all I do is sit and breathe.  "What was it?  What happened this time?" he asks serenely.

I don't answer.

"Come on, you can tell me."

After another moment of extreme concentration on just getting air, I decide to relent.  "Professor Snape," I mumble and Remus' grip on me grows tighter.

"I just spoke with him," he says, perhaps a bit oddly, "he's about like his usual self."  I sigh in relief.  He's still undiscovered.  Another dark thought is thrown from my mind for the time being.  This is why I know I can't last here.  Remus knows that is what I want to hear when I dream about him.  I want to know that he is safe and still as spiteful as ever.  What can these people and this hospital ever do for me?  

I think back on what Remus has told me and repeat to myself that the man is still there to despise, but there was that strange note in his voice.  I finally look up at him and I let my eyes ask my question for me.

"Not right now.  Maybe later when you're up to it," he responds on a softer note.

"Harry," Kevin says, sitting on my other side, "I know this is hard, but I want you to explain to me what just happened."  I sort of drop to a deep slouch and shake my head, looking at my lap.  

"You have to tell him," Remus urges.  "I don't think I should have let this go on.  I should never have let you isolate yourself to only talking to me.  I should have made you talk to other people from the start."

Now I shake my head more fiercely.  "Tell him.  Please," he begs and in the background I can hear Bill whisper, "C'mon Charlie, let's go."  

_Why did it have to come to this?_

As the door clicks shut with finality, I shake my head slightly and suddenly feel a weight on the back of my neck.  "You can do this," Remus says.

Why do I suddenly feel that I'd rather be run over by the Hogwarts Express than say another word for as long I live?  Mute people get along just fine all the time and so have I for the last month.

He runs his fingers over the bones in my neck, trying to ease and urge me at the same time.  I know that he won't abandon me here.  If only I could find some true motivation to force the words past the knot in my throat.

'_Something is wrong with Snape_,' I remind myself.  '_If you can just get past this, then maybe he'll tell you what's happened._'  The thought in itself is bribery enough; the man saved my life, not for the first time, and if there is something that I can do to help him, I will.  

'_Just force the words out.  This is something you must do_.'

"I'm here to help you, Harry.  I won't let you fall," Remus tells me.  I can feel another tear try and force its way out but I blink it away.  I know he's telling the truth; he would never lie about something like that.  I nod slightly under his fingers and take a shuddering breath.  Just a moment more and I force myself to start speaking, telling the room the beginning of my dream but I stop when I get to Voldemort's unusual Muggle punishment, conveniently leaving out that Snape is spy, instead referring to him as another prisoner.

I have so far refused to look at the younger man sitting beside me.  I can feel him shift on the bed in what? Anticipation?  Impatience?  Discomfort?

I can feel in the close proximity to Remus that he is unsure whether to urge me forward, or be content that I have opened up this far.  I shake my head against his shoulder again.  I don't want to say anything more.  I pray that he will finish for me.  I hope to God that he knows that I trust him with my secrets.

He sort of squeezes my hand to let me know that he's proud I have gone this far and I return the gesture as a means of telling him that I'll be alright.

He waits a few seconds before turning to Kevin and finishing what I started.  I can hardly listen to what happened to me as Remus gives the short, barely detailed version of the end of my tale.  It just seems so final when it's out loud, even with a voice as quiet as his at the moment.

"The Dark Lord beat him to the point of illness before turning to magic in a threat against the Hogwarts Professor that has also been held captive there."

So short, but it stings so much.  

"Bill said that there were signs of magic while he was sleeping?" Remus asks after he's done.

"Yes," Kevin replies in a hesitant voice, apparently shocked at what he has just heard.  "It seemed to be one of the Unforgivable curses, but that's impossible because nobody was here to cast it."

"Indeed," Remus replies.  "Harry, why don't you tell him about it?  From the beginning?"

I close my eyes tightly, almost regretting that I called for him in the first place.  This was not what I wanted… I don't think…

"When did this first happen?" Kevin reiterates, summoning his clipboard to his lap, a quill in his hand.

I finally sit up in my bed on my own and vaguely look him in the eye.  I sigh before I begin, pushing down the emotion that has overwhelmed me.

"It was, um…" I start, and pause to force down the tightness in my chest that's rising to stop up my throat, "it was about a week after I got out."

"Six days," Remus corrects me quietly, only to make sure that Kevin gets all of the appropriate facts.

"I had… I had just gotten back home from the manor practically, and um… I hadn't been sleeping very well.  I had been to Hogwarts for a few days and stayed with Madame Pomfrey, but then I went home."  I stop for a minute.  I don't think this is going to go anywhere unless he understands one very important thing.  

"Have you ever been afraid to go to sleep?" I ask.

"Once or twice," Kevin replies earnestly.  "Whenever my sister got sick I couldn't sleep.  It didn't matter if it was a cold or the flu, sleep would just never find me."

"But were you afraid?" I repeat.

He looks up from his clipboard to look at me, probably the desperation in my voice waking him up to how serious I am.  He looks me gently in the eye and says, "Yeah.  A few times," and he pauses.  "Why were you scared?"

"It was the noise.  All the time there was always noise.  Footsteps and breezes… in Hogwarts all of the armor would clank and the paintings would talk to each other.  There were mice running around and people kept coming into the infirmary and staring at me," I start, but my voice has already cracked, my jaw trembling and against all of my efforts, I'm starting to cry.  "And all I could think about was how much the noises sounded like the ones that I heard when they came for me in the first place and all of the sounds that I heard while I was there."

I stop to sniff and wipe at my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket.  "On the first night that I went home, all of the noises were still there, but now everything looked closer to what the room had been like there.  At Hogwarts all of the walls are stone and the rooms are big, but when we got home-" I pause again, try to catch up with myself, "-everything was wooden and the spaces were smaller again.  I mean, it wasn't the same, but it was closer and it just made everything worse.  That was the first night that I had a nightmare about what happened there."

"Where's home?" Kevin asks quietly.

"My house," Remus clarifies.

"What did you dream about that first night?" Kevin asks me.

I take a shaking breath before starting again.  "It was about two weeks into the time I had been _there_ and um… all of the Death Eaters were surrounding me in this room that they kept me in.  I didn't understand what was going on because I had just woken up when I heard them all come in.  I didn't have my wand with me so I knew I had no way to defend myself other than with my hands.  

"I - I sat up on the couch as quickly as I could but all of the white masks just kept getting closer and closer and filling in all of the possible gaps and escape routes through their circle.  I stood up because I didn't want to be trapped where I was at and I spun around to see them all.  Then somebody used the - the vanishing spell to get rid of the couch so there was nothing in their way.  I was, in all respects, helpless."

I stop to take a few breaths again, thankful that the crying feeling is passing.  I'm talking much more naturally now.  

Still, I haven't thought about this in awhile.  It's been nice not thinking about it.

"That's when they raised their wands at me," I start again, "all of them.  At least twenty.  I was completely surrounded and I knew that even if they all did just a tiny little hex on me each that it would surely kill me.

"I don't know how I heard it, but somehow I heard one of them breathe in funny like people do right before they sneeze and when they did, I spun around and grabbed their wand and hexed them, but just as I finished it, Bellatrix Lestrange grabbed my arm and forced it down.  Her momentum and my adrenaline mixed up and I… I hit her… right in the face.  I think I broke her nose and everything because I could see the blood dripping out from under her mask.  She was so angry at me and I was so shocked that she hit me back, over and over again while I tried to fight back.  None of the other Death Eaters did anything because they thought it was funny to see her hitting me while I was just lying there, stunned on the ground.  When she was finally done they all decided that whatever they were going to do wasn't nearly the same as what had occurred so they left," I finish.

"But…" Remus urges me.  

"But she hexed me on the way out.  I don't know what it was exactly but I couldn't stop coughing.  I coughed so hard and for such a long time that I tore my throat up and started coughing up blood.

"That's when I woke up.  Remus heard me coughing in my sleep and when I didn't stop he came in to see if I was okay.  He could see the red smears on my pillow and shook me until I woke up but I still couldn't stop.  It lasted for at least another five minutes or so; about the same time it took before one of the Death Eaters returned to my room to stand guard and he lifted the curse.  That was the first time that I relived a memory in my sleep.  I've had them ever since."

Kevin nods as he finishes writing something on his parchment.

Remus tells me I did a good job.  So why do I feel so vulnerable all of a sudden?

As I look back down to my lap, Kevin turns to Remus and says, "Is there anything you think needs to be added?"

"It was scary," he says.  The first thing that he tells the hospital staff is that it was scary.  Great.  I shift where I sit and pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and dropping my forehead to rest on them.  

"I mean, everybody coughs in their sleep, it's only natural, but he must have gone on for about twenty minutes before I thought that something might be amiss.  So I went to the kitchen and got a glass of water for him thinking that would probably help.  I tried knocking on his door but he didn't answer, he just kept coughing.  That's when I started to think that maybe something was really wrong."  

I can feel myself start to shake again.  

"I opened the door and he was curled up in bed, just hacking non-stop and that's when I saw that he was coughing up blood, but that he was still sleeping."  

I let out a new cough involuntarily, almost as if the conversation is enticing me to just get one out.  

"So I started trying to shake him awake.  It took me a little bit but he did wake up.  Since he didn't stop I didn't know what else to do but have him sit and try to get it all out."  

Now I'm really shaking.  I feel _so_ nervous.  It doesn't go unnoticed though; Kevin, while listening to Remus talk, takes the topmost blanket on my bed and throws it around my shoulders.  I grab the ends of it and wrap myself tightly inside figuring that if it doesn't hide the fact that I'm shaking, at least I can try to smother them to death.

"After a few minutes, I remembered a similar hex being placed on a schoolmate of mine when I was younger and I tried the counter for it on him.  It seemed to work because it stopped.  It was another few minutes before he could tell me anything but he swore that it stopped because that's when the Death Eater in his dream took it off."

"I could still see it," I admit quietly.  "I kept closing my eyes because it hurt so much and the scene just kept playing in front of me.  Remus must have remembered and performed the spell right when that Death Eater did because it stopped at the same time in both of our stories."

"It wasn't until a few nights later that we discovered that the effects could be taken off in either reality.  I mean, either in his memory or by somebody in the waking world."

"So what did you two do after that?" Kevin asks.

"I had Madame Pomfrey, the medi-witch from Hogwarts, come down and check him out.  She gave him a slight potion to help heal his throat but he couldn't go to sleep for the rest of the night.  I guess he didn't want it to happen again.  We must have stayed up until four or five in the morning playing chess before he fell asleep on the couch.  He fought it until the very last second."

ﻬﻫ _You__ won't have to fight anything anymore, sweetheart_, ﻬﻫ an aura-like woman's voice says.  ﻬﻫ _You're__ going to get better here and you won't have to worry about those horrible memories haunting you ever again_. ﻬﻫ 

I look around quickly to see if there is a ghost behind me that I didn't notice before, but there isn't anybody there.  

"Did you hear that?" I ask, still searching the room.

"Here what?" they both ask me, both with the same look of confusion on their faces.

"Never mind," I say quietly.  Now they're _really_ going to think I should be penned up in the psychotics ward.

"After that?" Kevin asks, continuing on with the conversation that I interrupted.

"He only slept for a few more hours.  I think it was the sunlight that woke him up.  He seemed fine in the morning, right Harry?"

"What?" I ask, "Oh, yeah.  I felt much better."  _Where did that voice come from?_

"Harry, are you still cold?" Kevin asks me.  "You're still shaking."

"Yeah," I tell him only half truthfully.  I've seen the psychotics ward here and I'll lie about being cold to _not_ be sent there after hearing voices in my head that no one else does.

"Here," he says, "_warmio_," and instantly the blanket begins to heat up, calming my shivers just the slightest bit.

"You're not getting sick already, are you?" Remus asks me.  "It isn't even dark out yet."

"Wait, what?" Kevin says.  "Isn't it… are you a werewolf?" he asks me, not with fear or anger, just confusion.  It would make sense for a werewolf to get sick after dark on a full moon after all.

"What? Oh, no," I reply, having to take the time to catch up myself.  Remus completely disregards the comment and reaches up to check my forehead.  He's almost getting to be like Mrs. Weasley in ways like that.

"You don't feel warm at all.  Are you sure that it's going to happen tonight?"

I nod my head slowly.  "Pretty sure."

"Have you eaten anything yet today?" he asks me.

"I had half of a sandwich for lunch," I reply.

"Are you going to eat any more than that?" he presses.  

I sort of half shake my head.  "I wasn't planning on it," I admit quietly.

"Harry, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but maybe you should eat more before you fall asleep tonight.  If you really think that you'll be sick, you don't want to make it hard on yourself."

"But I don't want to have to throw it all up again!" I exclaim.

"I know you don't, but it will be easier on your body if there is something in it to get rid of.  Your body is just going to keep fighting itself until either something comes up or you exhaust yourself."

"How can I exhaust myself if I'm going to be sleeping?" I ask a little heatedly, but I have to admit that it is more out of apprehension than actual anger.

"You know what I mean.  Please don't make me beg you on this…" he trails.

There's nothing I can say.  He's right.  I lower my knees so that I'm just sitting again and nod.

"Just make things easy on yourself with this.  Please."

"Okay," I reply dejectedly.  "What do you want me to eat?"

He looks at me grimly.  "I don't care.  I just don't want you to feel worse when you're already going to feel bad.  I just want you to take care of yourself."

"Okay," I reply again, not really looking at him.  The room is pretty tense.  I don't think Kevin is so happy that he's stuck sitting next to us right now.  As much as it sucks being me, I feel bad for him at the moment.

"Are we alright?" Remus asks.  I put my off-kilter feelings on hold and think.  That was one of the first things that he ever asked me after I started living with him.  When I stopped talking, he thought maybe he had done something to provoke it.  He's always wanted to make sure that there's never bad blood between us.  We both know that we're the last connections to the friendships made so long ago; we're the last people that truly cherish the memories, even if I don't have any of my own.

I nod again and give him a weak smile.  "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," he says.  "I know it's going to be horrible, but you can make it through this."

We all just sort of sit there for a long while before Charlie knocks on the door.  

"Sorry, but Healer Rainer just got back.  She wants to talk to you, Kevin," he says.

"I'll be right there," Kevin replies.  "Healer Rainer will probably be in to see you in a bit," he says.  "It's good that we talked about this," and walks out the door with a nod, closing it behind him with a "thank you," to Charlie.

We both sit for a minute or two more before he moves to sit on the chair next to my bed instead of right in front of me.

While everything is still quiet, I say, "I'm up to it."

ﻬﻫ _Of__ course you are sweetheart_, ﻬﻫ that voice disturbingly reassures me from nowhere.

Remus looks at me strangely before he says, "Up to what?"

"What's happened to Professor Snape?"

~

So that's it!  Lots -o- history in this round, what'dya think?  

Congratulations are in order for Kate who has officially picked up "This is Your Life" by Switchfoot!  Congrats also to mybacktotheshadows who pointed out two alternate versions of the same song!  Look for yourselves in future chapters!

Foureyedsnail: No worries, no death is in the future of this fic beyond Jaycee Calhoun so far, but who knows where the muse will lead.

mybacktotheshadows:  I picked up the "what it feels like to check into the hospital" thing a little while ago… I had some heart tests done at the hospital but I'll admit, I was happy to have the tests done 'cause I wanted to know what was going on.  The whole, "what do you say to the person next to you" thing was me and my mom every time though! (And all is well by the way… apparently there's nothing wrong with me! lol) And what is PTSD?  I've never heard of that before...

Thanks to all who reviewed!  You guys rock my face off! Heehee…

starangel2106, Samantha, mybacktotheshadows, charmina, foureyedsnail, Wiccan PussyKat, kateydidnt, ballpointwriter, Kate, chips challenge, Licky, Alynna Lis Eachann, lyss33, The Dark Elfy Chick, jaycee (don't fret, you may be down, but you are no where NEAR out!), Elven Warrior1, Lady Jade Green, ParanoiaIn2005, angel74, and Japonica!

Hope you guys are rockin' out to whatever tune is flarin' your style!  Have a great week!

~Tini :D


	9. Rain on the Pond

April  3, 2004

Disclaimer:  "Pretty people don't always win.  Sometimes pretty people get stepped on by giants and die."  Also known as, don't step on me; it's just fan-fiction.  (Read "Into the Woods" for a better understanding of this quote.)

Authors Note: Hey all, sorry for the long wait, school has been horrendous, as always.  But you can all thank Molly for getting this out!  She got me in the writing mood and you all get a chappie!  Hurray, Molly!  

Long wait so notes are at the bottom!  Enjoy!

~

I cross my office and drop into my desk chair.  How dare he?  How _dare_ he?  I've always known that I've hated that man and finally when things are starting to turn, against my better judgment even, he drops **_this_** in my lap!  My God!  Mentioning Cara with the Floo Network open? _ Why not just kill her yourself you idiotic monster!_  After all these years without even a hint being dropped as to her existence he actually says her name!  _God, how I hate him!_

I stand up again and cross to my shelf of potion ingredients.  _Where the hell is that Hulakau solution? _I think, trying to distract myself from my rage, instead, I'm making it worse._ It was here when I left!  I need that before I leave tonight!  When are those damn house elves going to learn to not touch my store-shelves, even IF the jars are dirty!_

I can't hold back the anger anymore.  Grabbing the first bottle within reach I hurl it against the opposite wall, making it shatter into thousands of pieces, watery green liquid oozing down the walls of the room.  

"Master Snape, sir?" a small, squeaky voice says.  _Great, it's one of those little imbeciles now._

"What is it?" I demand angrily.

"Master Snape sir, Master Dumbledore wants to see you, sir," the little house elf says, wringing one of her ears in her hand, twirling it almost like those annoying braided first years do.

"He couldn't come and tell me himself?" I snarl at her.

"N-no Master Snape sir, he was… he was up speaking with the a-astronomy professor, Master Snape sir, and he asked me if I could come and fetch you, sir.  He's waiting for you in his office, sir."

I roll my eyes in irritation.  If they could get out a complete sentence in the same time they did everything else, the world would be a much happier place.

"Fine," I say angrily, "Tell him I'll be there in a minute."

"Thank you, Master Snape sir," she says and with a snap she's gone, the potion bottle previously broken now stands in one piece and refilled neatly on my desk.

"Argh! I can't even make a _mess_ without the release of frustration being bottled and stopped back up again!"

With nothing short of a hurricane's fury, I stomp out of my office, through the school's corridors and up the many flights of stairs to the old man's office, being sure to slam every door I come across along the way.  If I don't get some of this out before I get to Albus, he'll just intensify it until I explode.

How ironic that repaired bottle seems now as the headmaster, I'm sure, is going to do the same thing to me.

I stop for a moment before turning to the gargoyle's hallway, closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths.  '_He's just trying to help you_,' I remind myself.  '_He has your best intentions at heart_.'  

'_Looks like that bottle metaphor is already at work_,' I think to myself cynically.  How does the man infuriate me so much without even speaking to me?

"Severus?  If you are ready, this is most important."  I spin around, opening my eyes at the same time.  So he isn't in his office yet after all.  "If you please," he says, motioning down the hall.  Together we walk towards the end of the corridor, ascend the stairs and close the door behind us.

"So what can I do for you?" I ask, trying to sound hurried so maybe I can leave sooner.

"How are you holding up?" he asks.  _Good God, Lupin sure has a big mouth_.

"I don't know what you're talking about.  Did you need me for something or not?" I reply agitatedly.

"I just want to know how things are going.  With Voldemort being a little more… free in his attacks, I wanted to make sure you were still okay.  You are one of our only two spies; we worry about you all the time."

'_Only one of two… more like "only one" now_,' I think bitterly and turn to look out the window, briefly stopping on that horrendously bright bird in the process.

"Severus?"

"Just one," I repeat.

"Pardon?"

"I'm just one," I say again.

"Yes, that is true," he says, more than a bit confused.  I walk my way over to the window, staring down at the late afternoon shadows on the grounds below.  I cross my arms over my chest, hoping that it makes me look indifferent.

"So I take it you've spoken to the werewolf?" I spit out.

"I really wish you wouldn't speak of him like that.  He is a good man-" I can't help but let out a derisive snort, "-and he has been more than patient and understanding to you.  Why do you still hold such animosity against him?" he asks.

"Maybe it's because I can," I reply icily.  He makes an aggravated sort of noise before I cut him off again.  "I have nothing to prove to him so why should I waste my time making formalities with him?"

"Tolerance has nothing to do with proving yourself or making formalities."  

"Doesn't it?  It doesn't seem to me that tolerance is very tolerant if you aren't at least formal, and when you're formal you're trying to prove something.  So if you're not trying to prove something and you aren't going to be formal then what's the point in wasting the time?" I ask pointedly not even bothering to hold back the antagonism.

The room is stiffly silent.  I don't know what Albus is doing now, a bookcase blocks my peripheral vision to him, but years of spying tell my ears that he has not moved from his position.  No footsteps, no shuffling papers, no shifting of his glasses.  He must be trying to figure me out again.  

'_Good luck_.'

"If you don't need me for anything else then I best get going.  I have a long night ahead of me," and I tear my eyes away from the green grass, the fading sky, and the decorative stone work of the immense castle that lies before me.  I navigate my way across the room, refusing to look at all of the strange gadgets lying about and the ancient headmasters staring at me from above.  Opening the door I hear, "Severus?" one more time before calling "I'm fine!" and slamming the door behind me.

I walk down only four steps or so before sitting down on the winding staircase.  _Jaycee is gone, Cara could be in trouble, I've lost the trust I had in Lupin… What else will go wrong today?_  Elbows to knees, face in hands I think to myself, '_No, I am anything but fine_.'

Through the door I hear Dumbledore's nearly silent and final question.  

"What do mean '_I'm just one_'?"

~

My arm burns with a white fire that contrasts ironically with the dark hue of my tainted flesh.  The burn teases portions of my arm with the flicker of the snakes tongue and I close my eyes lightly against the pain.  No one need know how much it is affecting me.  Besides, what do I want from them?  Pity?  Understanding?  They are suffering through the same thing as I and to crave attention for the recurring injury would only incite malice and taunting.  I should know.  I helped start the trend. 

I push the pain down, visualizing it traveling past the crook of my arm, sliding down my forearm, snaking past my wrist and dripping off of my fingertips in a slow, steady motion.  The tingling remains, but the majority of the pain has been released.  

I send my focus to the white masked members of the ring that surround me, the mission I am here to accomplish.  The darkening sky plays dark purple before me, the low, setting sun to my back.  I take a few deep breaths to relax my mind, reminding myself that occlumency is no good to me if I am not in control of my own mind, thoughts and emotions.  

'_Just like Potter_,' I think.  The boy never could master himself enough combat the invasion.  Even after he returned and he studied with Albus… but there were so many circumstances surrounding his life since then that it almost isn't unforeseen.  His lack of communication and sleep, '_despite his laziness,'_ I think, also contributed to his current… plight.

'_Stop thinking about the boy!_' I shout inside my own head.  '_What if he turns to you and you're releasing sentimental thoughts about the worst brat ever to attend Hogwarts?  You'll be done for! Knock it off!_' With the anger and self-condemnation flowing freely through my blood stream, I close my eyes a bit tighter and focus once more on calming myself.

_'Release your emotions, let go of your thoughts, you have no fear… she'll be alright_…' I shake my head roughly and start again.  '_You have no fear, the Lord is your master, the Lord will provide… tell him your thoughts… tell him what pleases him… tell him about Cara_…'

'_WHAT?_' I immediately think back to myself.  '_Are you crazy?!_'  I heave an enormous, frustrated breath and clench my jaw.  If I can't focus I might as well just kill myself because it will certainly be less painful than what he'll do to me when he finds out that I haven't been on his side for the past twenty-odd years and that I'm actually hiding a spouse from his power. 

'_It's not too late to feign illness.  It's not too late to perform a self-inflicted unconsciousness spell.  It's not too late_…' I remind myself.

"Snape, is there something I can do for you?" a cold, high voice asks me.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," I say evenly, silently cursing myself in the process.  "No there is nothing, my Lord."

"Would you care explain yourself?" he asks dangerously, towering above where I kneel in the gravel strewn grass.

Automatically falling into the strand of calm that I have used so often in my lifetime under enormous pressure, I bow my head saying, "It was merely a pest, Master.  A gnat that would not leave me.  It will not happen again."

"Raise your face to me," he commands and I obey.  "Look into my eyes and repeat what you have told me."

Slowly, under my mask and the guise of intimidation, I raise my eyes to meet his all the while soaring through my thoughts, fanatically tearing out the emotions that will betray me with a puff of air.

As our eyes lock and I begin to repeat myself I can feel my hair blown from face, strictly as a reaction to his power, and I lean back just the smallest bit.  The stream of my very being flips before my minds eye like the shuffling of photographs.  My calm mind sprints flat out before the Dark Lord's rummaging trying to pull out the betraying memories so that I may live.  The flickering finishes as I neutrally repeat, "It will not happen again," and he looks over me, sizing me up while my eyes remain on his face.

"No, I do not doubt that it won't," he replies and with a final once over, he passes onto the person next to me continuing his round.  I lower my face and silently take a deep breath.  '_If you can't get over this, you're done for_,' I think and repeat the mantra that I have held for the vast majority of my life.  '_You hate them.  You have no reason to care about those that would not help you.  You simply cannot stand them_.'

While his back is turned, I begin to cough harshly and pull a hand under my mask to cover myself, or so it seems.  The Hulakua solution residing in my palm, I breathe in its vapors and immediately am able to focus; thoughts of my family are gone and all that concerns me is the task at hand.  Within a few more convincing hacks, all of the solution has evaporated against the heat of my palm and I lower my hand again, silently vanishing the small vial.  The calm spreads through my limbs and ripples through my brain; I know it will continuously relax me through the meeting.

Finally he finishes his circle and shouts to the ring, "We have lost one of our numbers to treachery this morning as most of you know.  One of you remaining knew of this deceit and tonight we will find out who.  Bella, step forward," he commands sharply and from the far end of the circle, a black cloaked woman stands, moves forward a few feet towards the center and returns to her kneel.  She shudders slightly but just as quickly regains her composure to stay still on one knee, head bowed, eyes presumably closed.

I watch carefully from the topmost portion of my eye.  With my head bowed, it is the only way that I can see them without being obvious.  He approaches her slowly, steps perfectly calculated, the power emanating from him only fortifying the fear that lies deep with us… within me.  As he moves closer to her, her hands that lie resting on her knee twitch slightly.  '_Bad move, Bella_,' I think.  '_Calm your nerves, you are innocent_.'  It's almost as if she hears my silent thought and her shoulders rise in the darkness.  She is regaining her self-confidence.

His final step towards her finds him placing his hand on the crown of her lowered head and yet she remains still.  His steps turn to the side; he starts to circle her.  

"Bella, my dear Bella," he begins, "tell me all you know about the traitor that was in our midst."

"French, Master," she says, "about 43 years of age.  He was Parisian, actively joined your cause late last year, approximately around Halloween."  She stops.

"What else can you tell me, my faithful servant?" he asks, still circling her.  "What else do you know?"

"I know nothing else my Lord," she states.

"Nothing?" he asks viciously, grabbing and pulling her hair back quickly, leaving her neck exposed and his wand pressed into it.

"N-nothing, Master.  I'm sorry!  That is all that I know!" she says, just short of crying it out.

He studies her a moment longer before releasing her, throwing her to the ground.  "Very well.  You have done exceptional, my dear Bella.  You may return to your place amongst the others," he says and strolls back towards the center of the ring, gravel crunching under his feet, the surf crashing perhaps a hundred feet below us.  I steal glances at Bellatrix Lestrange as she raises herself to her feet, back the few steps to the ring and returns to a kneel.  She appears stiff.  She should.

Midway between the demented Mrs. Lestrange and myself, the Dark Lord pauses in the, so far, unlit area and calls, "Lucius."

Immediately, the elder Malfoy steps into the ring, returning to the subjective lowered position and begins speaking.  "I have obtained information from my contacts at the Ministry, my Lord.  He has moved his family multiple times within the last year, always under a different alias.  He has sent them money through Gringott's once a week for the past six months, but I have yet to obtain where the money is being delivered to.  The goblins refuse to disclose that location."

"That is very good, Lucius.  Very good indeed.  I would like you to work harder against the goblins.  Offer them however much gold they desire.  You will find out where they are hiding for me.  I will give you this honor.  Do you have anything else for me?"

"Thank you, my Lord," he says, "I'm sorry, my Lord, that is all that I know."

"Very well, you are done," the Dark Lord says and Malfoy returns to empty position.  His shoulders sit arrogantly once He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has moved on and his mask tilts smugly to the side in a show of the Dark Lord's favoritism to him.  One day that arrogance will be beaten out of him.  I await the day almost as much as I await the fall of Lord Voldemort.

"Severus!" he calls and obediently I do as the others.  I vaguely wonder what will be done to me.  I have nothing to inform him of that has not already been told or previously known, nothing that I can tell anyway.  Or is there?

"I understand you and he were at odds for the course of his service, is this correct?"

"Yes, my Lord," I reply, my body calm as mind flows clearly, smoothly.

"Why is this?" he prods.

"Just a personality clash, my Lord.  It was something out of our control, but we kept our civility to each other for the sake of serving you," I offer.  

"Probable," he muses.  "Understandable even.  Look me in the eye when you speak to me, Snape," he spits out suddenly.  "You may have proven your loyalty, but I still have my doubts against you."

"I'm sorry, my Lord."

"Do you know who he was working for, Severus?  Did he ever let anything slip in a bout of rage?"  His words are distinct, clear, accusatory even, but that essence of curiosity makes the words lose some of their harshness.  

My mind races for a moment.  This could prove an opportunity, but I have only seconds to debate it.  I can lie and say no, punishment will surely follow.  Or… or I can tell the truth, that he was working for the Order.  

"He was working for the Order of the Phoenix, my Lord.  I am almost certain of it," I tell him.

I can feel the power and the sheer animalistic anger within him create shockwaves expanding out from where he stands.  They wash over me as he starts to circle me as he did to Bella.  He passes behind me and I ready myself for an attack.  I can't see him when he is behind me, I am vulnerable and he knows this.  When the attack does not come, he dangerously asks, "And how did you come to be aware of this?  Why have you not told me sooner?!" he ends in an inhuman yell.

"I only discovered it this noon, my Lord, but I didn't want to inform you until I had more information-"

"For something like this I refuse to wait!  If Albus Dumbledore has his secret weapons amongst my ranks," he says spitefully, "I wish to know immediately, whether accurate or not!" 

"I am sorry, Master.  It will not happen again."

"It had better not," he threatens.  After another moment of circling, he speaks again.  "Now, how did you come upon this information?  How is it that you conveniently discovered his base of operation only after his death?"

"I was walking the halls of the school, my Lord, returning to my office after an errand when I heard the headmaster speaking to somebody in an adjacent hallway about the execution this morning.  I could not see or hear the other person, but I believe I heard Dumbledore mention his name within the confines of the Order and he expressed his sadness at losing his spy.  He also expressed his concern of following your movements without him.  However, I am not sure that 'Calhoun' was the name spoken.  The corridors echo strangely and words tend to blend together from a distance," I easily lie, praying still that punishment will be non-existent, or at least quick.

The Dark Lord circles me a few more moments, trying to determine the truth of my story.  He pauses in front of me one more time, glaring into my eyes one last time, scouring my mind for any hint of deceit before deciding that I am being honest.

"Very well, Severus.  It is your task to continue this surveillance of the headmaster.  I don't care what you must do to learn of his involvement, just find out!  You are dismissed!"

"Thank you, my Lord," I whisper with just a tinge of silk in my voice.  "I will not fail you in this task."

'_Especially when it will all be make-believe anyway_,' I hungrily think and return to my place in the ring of white faces.  

My back to the shadows, I kneel in place, watching the full moon rise heavily, evenly, and outstandingly large in the late summer sky.

'_Lord Voldemort, if only you knew how easily we fool you_.'

~

And that concludes another chapter!  Dun, dun, DUN!  I intended to have a lot more in here, but you've waited long enough!  I'll get the rest in later!

More song/chapter titles have been picked up!  A HUGE hurray for Bluegrassgurl who picked up "Beauty and the Mess" by Nickel Creek (I can't believe someone got this one! We must chat!), and the lovely Wiccan PussyKat and awesome Leggo-my-Legolas for grabbing Good Charolette's, "The Motivation Proclamation."  Look for yourselves in the future!  (I'm going to post on my bio the titles that have been claimed in case anybody is interested in getting one from past chapters.)

Chips Challenge: you'll see why the effects come back… it's far different from yours!  How's the writing break going?

Thanks to all who read! Especially: Molly, mybacktotheshadows, Bluegrassgurl, Midnight-Patraha, The Dark Elfy Chick, Kate, sami1010220, ShardWing, chips_challenge, HaRrYrOxMuhSoX, Foureyedsnail, Wiccan_PussyKat, starangel2106, ParanoiaIn2005, leggo-my-legolas, lyss33, SheWolfe7, Raine an Frodo, and Titanicbabe!

Have a kick-super-booty-fantabulous week!

Peace out! (heehee!)

~Tini :D


	10. Walk on the Ocean

April 10, 2004

Disclaimer:  Don't own it… "You don't have to a Nazi rocket scientist to figure that out."  (_Down With Love_… Ewan McGregor, Renee Zelwegger… what more do you need?)

Authors Note:  Hey all!  More Procrastination Writing Camp!  Hurray for putting off three big assignments!  So here's to you and you and you! Go forth and read! Usual notes at the end!

~

"But he's okay, isn't he?" I ask worriedly.  "They don't know?" I trail, shaking my head apprehensively.

"No, Harry, he's fine.  Just calm down, he'll be just fine.  There's a meeting tonight, remember?  I'll see him then and tell you what happened in the morning."

"But you won't see him, remember?" I ask with a little emphasize.

He closes his eyes regretting for the millionth time that he is one of the cursed.  His head drops and he shakes his head, only disappointed in himself.  "One of the others will tell me in the morning.  If something has gone wrong, they'll come to you, I'll make sure of it."  Raising his face again, he looks in my eyes saying, "I promise."

Now it is my turn to look down, rubbing my eyes with my fingers.  I wish I didn't feel so tired all the time.  But then again, there are a lot of things that I wish.  "Do you think he'll ever get out?" I ask, downcast.

"I don't know.  Maybe when he's older," Remus replies.  "Maybe never, maybe tomorrow.  In any case, it won't be pretty and it will be very difficult for many people."

"What do you mean?" I ask.  His face reads a different shade of thoughtful, as if he's thinking of something that nobody else knows.  The look contorts into his normal expression after a moment and he says, "Well, the other Death Eaters may come after him for not being honest and the Ministry likely will as well for the same reason.  He's been on their list of wizards to keep an eye on ever since he was put on trial after Voldemort's first fall 16 years ago. Professor Dumbledore will be helping him in trying to hide from the remaining loyal Death Eaters and start a new life, one that is empty of hostility and fear and I for one am not going to make them fight for that on their own.  They are going to need all of the help they can get."

"Do you think it will ever happen?" I ask sadly.

He takes a deep breath, pausing to think on it for a moment.  "I don't know," he finally relents but I'm sure he's thinking the same thing I am.  _That's all dependent on whether you can kill Voldemort or not...  And that in turn depends on whether you are going crazy or not, _I finish.  

ﻬﻫ _You__ are not going crazy, baby, you just need to let it all out_. ﻬﻫ   Again, I whip my head around, eyes darting through the corners of the room, desperate to find the voice that keeps saying these things to me.

"What's wrong?" Remus asks, starting to look around the room as well.  "What did you see?" he says a bit more forcefully.

Continuing to gaze around, my whole body trembling, I say, "Nothing.  I didn't see anything…" but still my eyes wander and I pull my blanket around me even tighter.

"Harry, look at yourself; you're scared," he says.  "There is something bothering you.  Please tell me what's going on," he says.  

I bite the corner of my lip and try to take a deep breath.  He's the only person that doesn't think I'm crazy right now, but this is definitely the inner-mind workings of somebody that's gone off the deep end.  "It was nothing," I lie.  "I thought I saw a shadow or something.  It must have been a bird flying past the window."

"Are you sure?" he asks pointedly.

"Yeah," I say, "I'm sure."  But my fear is only growing as time passes.  What if there really is somebody in my room?  What if they found me and they are standing right next to me underneath an invisibility cloak, just waiting for Remus to leave and for me to be alone again.  They'd take me back, but this time they wouldn't delay putting an end to my life.  A shiver runs uncontrollably through my body and I hug my knees again.  I feel so childish sitting like this all the time, but I can't suppress the feeling of needing something to hold on to, the feeling of needing something close to me that won't hurt me.

"It's not healthy to keep this inside anymore, Harry, that's why you are here," Remus says.  "Whatever is bothering you…" he starts but decides to go a different direction, "I'm not going to think any less of you whatever you tell me, you know that."

I nod a little, still trying to look around the room without being obvious, but finally just dropping my head to my knees in defeat.

"Will you tell me what's going on?" he asks quietly.

But again, I shake my head no.  "There's nothing," I say again.  "It was just a shadow," and faintly I hear Remus sigh.

~

The scent of lightning is slowly seeping through the cracks of my windows, through the gaps underneath doors and I inhale the scent contentedly, watching the clouds roll by through my once-more unshaded windows.  The once dappled sky is now covered in a grey fluff reaching high into the atmosphere, higher than the eye can see.  The wind is beginning to howl and branches of trees differentiate between easy sways and violent whippings.  Lying on my side, my head resting on my arm, I gaze at the incoming storm with a simple attitude.  I have no emotion for the darkness, the lightning, and the thunder; they simply exist and I exist to observe it.  

I wish my life wasn't turning out this way, but I guess that's a wish that everybody has and is one that nobody can escape.

I wish I wasn't afraid to let my friends know where I am at, but on the surface I still hold some of the resentment that was gathered from last summer when their letters held nothing but broken phrases and shattered hope.  At the surface only because I need the resentment to not miss them as much as I do deep down.

I wish Remus hadn't left in such a mood.  He was angry with me.  I know he was and most likely still is, but how am I supposed to tell the last person that really cares about me that I think I'm turning into a madman?  I wish I could just tell him everything that is on my mind without the fear that he'll reject me and leave me behind, too tired and fed up to deal with a stubborn sixteen year old with more issues than Time magazine.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to lose him.  Would I be upset?  Would I be impartial?  He's been one of the few people to try and help me through this, he's been there every step of the way and I'm sure he never deserved some of the treatment he received.  So many nights I woke up to feel him sitting next to me on my bed, wiping the sweat from my face, assuring me that I was far from danger; so many nights he never let sleep take hold, he supported me through sickness, and he never let fear or fatigue grip his heart.  His generosity and compassion I have rarely seen matched and his stoutness of heart this past month I have never seen.  I think it would be wrong to not be upset.

Still other times, I think, he was nowhere to be found.  For the first thirteen years of my life he was conspicuously absent, only to appear for year and then return only in short grasps for the next two.  _Does he even care about me?_  I wonder.  _Am I just a job to him, something to do to pass the time and serve The Order?_  

I shake my head and close my eyes where I lay, erasing the thought from my mind.  If he didn't care then why would I still be with him?  He would have sent me off to the Weasley's house or back to Hogwarts.  He has to care, he just has to…

There are steps outside my door, the door my back is facing, and I can hear the shoes beat ominously on the linoleum, a door opening and closing close by.  A thunderclap rumbles through the air and a voice calls out to me.

"Harry?  Are you awake?"  It's Ms. Rainer.

I take my eyes away from the rain clouds outside and roll over to see her, resting my head on my other arm giving a sort of forced half-smile in the process.

Smiling back, she sits across from me so I don't have to look up and politely asks, "How are you?"

I shrug in return and start gazing around the room.

"Harry," she says again to regain my attention, "I don't rightly know ho to start this, so I'm just going to jump right in.  You are not alone in this like you think you are.  Did you know that there are other people going through the same thing you are right now?  That you're not the only one who thinks they are living only half of a life?"  I only look up to her face at her words; I have once again resorted to not speaking.  "You may have post-traumatic stress disorder and you can overcome it.  Maybe if you can tell me what happened _exactly_, we can get to the bottom of it faster and you can get better and go back home.  That's what you want, isn't it?"  I pause to think.  Is it really what I want?  Do I really want to trouble Remus with more of my problems?  But then again, if it's over with then there won't be any more problems to be dealt with.  In the end, I give a half-hearted and very doubtful nod, unable to look her in the eye.

"Maybe we could start with you filling in the gaps.  You've told us some things about what happened when you had been kidnapped, but there are still a lot of holes in the story.  Would you like to start with that?" she asks.  I don't reply, there are too many thoughts going at once in my mind for that and my eyes travel blindly over the room in front of me, not really looking, not really seeing.

"We'll take it slowly," she promises.  "Since you just got here this morning, I won't make you go places that you don't want to go, but we will hit them all sooner or later, understood?"

I bite the corner of my lip again and nod; I clear my throat but don't say anything.  She's going to have to lead the way.

"I talked to Kevin when I got back and he said that you've had two dreams already today?"

I nod.

"Tell me how they connect to each other."

_No_, I inwardly moan.  It's a road block.  Remus used to use it on me all the time; it's a direct statement made so that I can't back out of speaking and I can't answer with a simple yes or no.

I bite the corner of my lip even harder before I literally force myself to start talking.

"They were in the wrong order," I say quietly.  "The second one happened first."

"The second happened first?  Do you mean immediately beforehand, or some time far in advance?"

I really don't want to say anything else.  What if something slips that I'm not supposed to let other people know about?  I don't want to lead them to me again.  I turn my head back towards the window and watch some of the clouds roll closer, the lightning becoming more prominent, the splatters of thick water droplets beginning to patter on the window glass, pushing to get into the room.  I pause once more, just watching, just hoping that she'll leave.

"Kevin told me what the two dreams were about, that you dreamed of being taken into a room with The Dark Lord, and that the other one had another person helping you before _he_ came back to hurt you.  What happened after Lord Voldemort left, Harry?"  She's trying to bring me back to her side, to her world of help instead of the soul cleansing scene before me; the scene of rain rivulets splashing up the pane of glass before their inevitable fall into the puddles that lie below.  The miraculous rain that cries for me and the thunder that screams when my voice is too weak.  The lightning, so fast and so angry that releases my hatred; it is nature that expresses me when my voice is too soft and my fears too great.  It is nature that has kept me going.  Only amidst the storms could I cry without waking my guardian, release the self disappointment and self-sickening thought that I brought this upon myself.  Only the storms; only God's fury.

"Harry?"

Fully lying facing the storm, against my own wishes, I start to speak.  "After Voldemort left and the guard apologized, all I remember is blindly lying on the floor, my professor trying to convince me to stay awake, but the pain was so great, my mind so totally unfocused.  I was shaking very badly and my professor forced me to lie on my side, hoping that it would keep me awake and away from Voldemort's power.  It hadn't worked.  The very last things that I can recall of that afternoon are my professor's hand on the back of my neck and him repeating over and over and _over_ again, "Just breathe, Potter.  Slow, deep breaths; just let them come," before blacking out.  I woke up some time later, it was night and I don't think my body has ever felt so damaged.  That was when another Death Eater came and led me to him, but deep down, I knew somehow that during that time that I had blacked out… I knew my lost time was only lost to me.  I had to have been out for a long time, I'm sure he got into my mind.  There was nothing I could do and I was being led right back to him."

She's still sitting behind me.  Unlike everyone else, she hasn't come around to see my face while I talk, she hasn't told me to roll over and talk only to her.  

"What are you afraid of him knowing?" she asks sincerely.

'_What am I not afraid of him knowing is more appropriate_,' I think, but outwardly I simply say, "Everything."

"Everything?"

"Who my friends are, where they live, the professors I like, who I consider family, the subjects I'm good at, what spells I do and don't know…" I trail. "The list goes on for ages."

There is a long moment of silence before I hear her speak again.  What she says is one of the last things that I ever expected.

"Harry, have you lost somebody close to you recently?  A family member, somebody that you cared about very much?"  I close my eyes tightly.  Why this again?  Why?

"Why?" I ask, the single word holding so much emotion it is overflowing.

"Because the first four things you listed as thoughts you didn't want him to know all had to do with people you care about.  What happened?"

"It was my godfather.  It was my fault."

"Do you want to-"

"No," I say quickly, perhaps too quickly.  "Not right now, if that's alright," I amend and I can hear her hum her agreement behind me.  Wanting nothing more to change the topic, I ask, "What time is it?"

There is another moment while I listen to the thunderclaps grow louder and the patter of the rain become more regular, less distinct, more forceful.

"It's almost seven thirty.  Are you getting hungry?"

I shake my head and press the palm of my lower hand against my temple.  It's starting, the headaches just like the previous times.  It seems the night has begun early and without my being prepared for it.  

"Can you tell me where you were?  What you're surroundings were like?" she asks.

Massaging my neck with my fingers, I think back to the prison that I was captive to and shudder visibly from the memory.

"Anything?  I'm sure there wasn't anything pleasant about the place, but maybe there was someplace that made you feel at least a little safe, or less nervous?  When somebody specific was with you?  You mentioned another prisoner, a professor of yours."

I take a heavy swallow and will the pain in my chest to go away.  Another rumble issues from the sky, but I missed the bolt of lightning.

"The bathroom."

"Excuse me?" she asks, a bit confused I'm sure.

"I felt safe in the bathroom.  They wouldn't follow me in there, but they guarded the door.  The window was always magically locked and the glass was frosted.  They wanted to control when I could see freedom and when I was to belong solely to them."

"They were even trying to discourage you like that?"

"Mmm hmm.  I guess when you have a lot of time on your hands to think about the person you hate the most, you start focusing on the details."  I roll onto my back again so that now I'm facing the ceiling.  "They thought of just about everything."

She pauses for a moment of respectful silence, but doesn't know what to say.  It's understandable.  "Was there any other place that made you feel a little better?  Any people that comforted you at all?"

I sigh.  "There was the girl… the girl in the blue grass outside."

"The blue grass?"

"Sometimes they let me go outside, usually on the really beautiful days, only to pound into my head that I would never get to live in it again.  They would put this spell on me… it was like a leash almost.  Nothing visible or physical, but they could still control where I went over a distance if they wanted to.  With the spell on, they would let me sit on the sea cliffs because they knew that if I tried to jump, they could stop me, if I tried to run they could hold me back.  I would sit there at sunset watching the colors on the water and when I would be forced into going back in, I would look down at the grass and it would look blue because of the sunset."

"Who was this girl that you mentioned?  Was she a Death Eater?" Rainer prods.

"I don't think so."  I shake my head.  "No, she wasn't.  She would appear out of the fog.  She was like a mist, but something about her just reinforced me to keep fighting.  I could go back into that house because she told me I could make it."

ﻬﻫ _And__ she was right, sweetheart.  You did make it._ ﻬﻫ   Again with the voice, but it doesn't sound bitter and hateful like I imagine a hiding Death Eater would sound.  It seems to be more supporting, but a voice in the head is still a voice in the head.  Crazy is as crazy does.  I sigh in frustration, not knowing where it's coming from or why I'm hearing it.  Number 863 on the list of things that I wish weren't happening.  

"Where do you think she came from?" she asks carefully, but I can't quite place what context she's being careful _in_.

I shake my head with my eyes closed and resort to shrugging again.  

"Have you seen her since?" she tries again.  _So you do think I'm going insane_.

"I thought I saw her the night that I was rescued, but never since."  _Unless you count that one time that I was hallucinating in the backyard just after the sun went down_.

"Have you told Remus about this yet?" she asks pointedly.

Again I shake my head.  "I think he knows, but I don't remember telling him.  It must have come out in a dream sometime."

"Did she have a name?" she presses.

And I think back to the fourth time that I saw her, sitting next to me on the cliff, my hands forced into the gravel bits and renegade blades of grass that lingered this far out from softer soil.  She was older than me, but how much older I don't know.  She seemed to rise up from the sea smoke, condensing in a sitting position to my left, a blue glow emanating from her form.  

_'Who are you?_' I had asked.  '_What's your name?_'

And with a simple gaze into my younger eyes she had replied,

_"Cara."_

~

Wha oh!  I've done it again! Heehee!  I know it's not really a place to stop, but I liked the cliffie aspect so I stopped there! (Ha! "Cliffie…" that's like, a double meaning!) Anywhoo!  

No worries, Wiccan, Kate, Leggo, and nadezhda… I know where you're going, I just haven't got that far yet! (and nadezhda, good to have you!)

Jaycee… I'm sorry I've confused you… if it doesn't get better, then drop me a line at amimegan@sailormoon.com and I'll try and help you out!

Paranoia: Yay! I was really worried that the last chapter kinda wasn't liked, but your review made me feel good about it again!  Thank you!

Mybacktotheshadows:  Thank you for telling me what PTSD is… as soon as I read it I was like, "OH YEAH!" and you're right… it screams my Harry; I didn't even think of that when I started writing him! So thank you!

I think that's all that I've got for now!  Hope you enjoyed the Harry chapter!  See ya!

~Tini :D


	11. Broken

June 1, 2004

Disclaimer: I could say this plot was mine but that would be plagiarism and 'I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course - but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing.' (Gotta love Dumbledore! Order of the Phoenix, page 620 - American version)

Author's Note: Happy Memorial Day to everybody that celebrates it (even though I'm like 30 minutes late)! No apologies this time, sorry all! (Ha, oxymoron… kind of) Huge final projects, finals, a well deserved break and then illness meant no writing. But, all hail the power of the Saltine cracker in its ability to tell you whether you're still sick or not and its odd healing power when used in conjunction with a boat load of water.

Be on the lookout for Kate who nabbed the song title _This is Your Life_, from chapter 7! (I finally got to a point to slip you in! And no worries, there will be more of you!) So since it has been, again, a long ss time, I won't talk anymore but instead give you chapter eleven for your reading enjoyment!

-

"And this Cara person, you said she helped you? What more can you tell me about that?"

I shrug, still hoping to discourage Healer Rainer into leaving.

"There must be something," she states quietly but pointedly.

"She was beautiful," I whisper, doubting I should show my more… sensitive side. "Sometimes she would talk to me, but most of the time she would just… be there with me. Somehow her presence, however wistful it may have been, it let me feel calm again if only for a little while. I will never say that she reduced my apprehension to the point when I was ready to return to the house but I could almost feel her unspoken promise that she wouldn't leave me. That even though I couldn't see her or feel her once inside that she was there just the same. She just… cared."

"Harry, do you know where you were at?"

I shake my head 'no' even though I am well aware of the location of my imprisonment. I feel like I've already divulged enough information, any more and things will turn for the worse, I can feel it welling in the bottom of my stomach.

"What were the sea cliffs like? Small? Steep? Anything at all that could help us help you," she persists.

Carefully, I ask, "How could telling you things like that, even though I don't remember," I lie, "help you?" I roll back over to my other side to face her, staring intently into her eyes.

"The more we understand about you, love, the more equipped we'll feel to help you. It may seem so irrelevant to you, but it is very important to us." There is no trace of a lie in her features.

I nod, but still refuse to give her an answer. Instead, I turn the subject in the only way that I know for sure that she'll leave.

"Ms. Rainer," I start, "I'm really tired. Can we do this some more another time?"

Giving me a once over at my sudden and random request, she reluctantly agrees. "Sure," she says. "We'll pick up where we left off in the morning. How does that sound?"

I shrug again in response, not exactly excited about the idea, but not sure that it will matter once the night is over with. I may not even be able to speak in the morning. There must be some strange look in my eyes that match my musings because I hear her say, "Is there something you want to tell me, Harry?"

Coming back from my thoughts, I shake my head again and take a deep breath. "It's nothing; I just want to go to sleep," which I can't quite decide if it's the truth or not.

Another analyzing gaze and she relents. As she stands up to leave she bids me a sincere "Sleep well," and I can't help being thrown into torrent of raging emotions as, softly, the door clicks closed behind her.

-

As I lay here, drawing on 8:30 at night, the lightning slowly beings to fade, the thunderclaps drifting into a distant, humming rumble that brings the resonant feeling of comfortable reverberance to my frame. Through my softly building headache and increased feeling of stomach pain in the form of nausea, I feel myself drifting to sleep, a sleep that I both fear and welcome. While closing my eyes and opening my mind to a world I will give anything to avoid deters me, I know that latching my lids will also bring the morning faster and with the morning Remus will surely come.

-

As I drop my keys into the dish on the foyer table I stop and lean heavily on the wall. '_How's he ever going to make it through this?' _I think_, 'If he can't trust me with his secrets then how can I protect him?_' I remember the first time he let me in on a secret. It took me a good fifteen minutes of begging and two hours of self deliberation for him to get it out. He's rather untrusting, James' son, but I suppose Harry has good reason to be. _'What did he see in that room this afternoon? It was certainly no shadow. A ghost perhaps? But then I would have seen it too. An echo of his parents like the night of the Third Task? But even Voldemort saw them so I should have been able to as well. Perhaps it was Cara,'_ I think in the back of my mind and I remember as well when I learned of her role in his life for two and half weeks.

_"Cara, don't make me go back. Please, there must be something you can do!" _he had begged in his sleep._ "Anything, please! Break the spell, help me run! If you're here you can help me, why won't you do that?"_

I had asked him about it the next morning over breakfast in which he promptly spilled the milk all over the table and generally acted the same way: twitchy, on edge, displaying extreme denial; on top of that, he couldn't seem to even remember my asking him about it later that day. That was the day that I decided there was something a bit more off than we had previously thought.

As I begin to master the staircase to head for my room, I hear Ron and Hermione in the living room playing chess. Ron calls a quick "Hello, Professor!" but I hear nothing from Hermione. Odd, but I am actually grateful. I don't feel like entertaining anybody right now and apparently she sees that. Thank God for her observational skills.

I wave absently even though they clearly can't see me anymore and I begin the turn around the corner of the banister; clearing the obstacle that Harry never could in a tired daze I finish the length of the hall and proceed to get changed in my room. I find the Wolfsbane potion I forgot to take earlier sitting on my bedside table with another vial next to it along with three notes. '_Good God_,' I think and open the one on top of Snape's cursed-from-hell concoction.

'Lupin,' it starts. '_Well at least he didn't call me 'werewolf' like he usually does_,' I think dryly and continue to read.

> 'Dumbledore told me before I left that you never took this and demanded that I write a little note to remind you. Quaint, I'm sure, but not my style as we both know. So here is this Godforsaken piece of parchment and don't forget that without Poppy's potion you're going to be in it bad. Molly should have brought it for you, not that I care.
> 
> Have a pleasant evening, _wolf_,'

he wrote ('_So much for that thought_,' I think dryly) and with much vehemence on the bottom was scrawled, 'Snape.' with the period and all. It's clear that with the flourish of his signature he wasn't closing his note but pushing me down the stairs of my very own house, screaming at me, "I still hate you, you monstrous bastard."

I sigh while swearing under my breath. I had really hoped Severus could overcome his hatred and I now see that it doesn't matter what I do to try and convince him that I pose no threat, I will always inevitably screw it up by saying the wrong thing and have to start the process over again the next day.

Picking up the next note I find it is from Madame Pomfrey, which means it's strictly medical, and indeed it is a list of warning signs to look for regarding the combination of the Wolfsbane and whatever she's given me.

> 'Headache, fever, nausea, vomiting, stomach pain… call me.'

Great. Not only will the Wolfsbane mess with what's left of my migraine, now whatever she's given me could make me as sick as Harry will be in a few short hours. That's just wonderful.

The third note is from Molly Weasley and with a mixture of relief and frustration I open the sealed note and begin to read.

'Dear Remus,' she starts.

> 'I understand how worried you are about Harry but he is in good hands at the hospital and for as often as Charlie has been committed…'

blah, blah, blah. I ball up the note and throw it in the trash can across the room. Her comfort is appreciated, it really is, just not right now. I already feel like I could puke from nerves and the smell of the Wolfsbane, I don't want sympathy right now too. Grabbing the quilt from the top of my bed, I walk back down the hall grabbing another blanket from the hall closet at the top of the stairs and I proceed to the living room.

Looking around the corner I catch Ron and Hermione's attention and say, "It's time for you two to go home," and they understand what I'm talking about immediately. Picking up her wand, Hermione gives it a flick causing all of the pieces to return to the little drawers in the base of the game board. She picks the whole thing up and prepares to leave but stops to give me a brave smile before heading for the fireplace, throwing in some Floo powder and leaving. Ron however stays behind for a minute and asks what I've known he would ask for the last three days… the last time he cornered me alone to pose his question.

"Have you heard from Harry lately?" he asks hopefully.

With my eyes turned aside I quietly say, "He's in hiding Ron. I don't know where he is. I haven't heard from him since your family brought him back to Hogwarts almost a month ago, you know that. Why do you keep asking me?" I finish, slowly looking up to his eyes, sorry that I have to lie to his best friend.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I was... well I was just wondering is all. If you do hear from him, can you tell him that-"

"You're all doing fine, hope he is well and are waiting for him to return. And if I have time, that the Cannons are beating the Stingers and he owes you six sickles; I know. If I hear anything he'll know Ron, and so will you. Now go home and get some rest. You can't be here in another fifteen minutes."

With a sad nod of his head he turns to go and I call to his back, "I'm worried about him too, Ron. We all are," and in a flash of green light he's gone.

-

I have no idea what being a werewolf feels like, but it can't be any worse than how I feel now. My limbs are shaking with such uncontrollable madness that I know my body is going to shatter with cold, yet every blanket that is lain on top of me feels as if it burns and it sets my bones on fire. But my body fights back, raining sweat upon the flames, dousing them out, only to be lit again once the quivering breaks for a few seconds time.

My brain feels like it will explode at any given moment; I can feel it beating on the nape of my neck, on the canals of my ears, on the soft flesh above my eyes. I try to keep them closed, knowing that one peek at my surroundings will seal my death sentence, but closing them too tightly makes my headache grow worse.

My insides feel like they've been opened and pulled out, wild animals clawing and chewing away at will, only to be shoved back in and my stomach sown closed. I am certain if I peel my shirt from my skin, the scars, nay the stitches will still be there.

I have been writhing on my side in an unknown bed for over fourteen hours now.

I have thrown up a total of seventeen times in five distinct rounds.

_My God, when is Remus going to get here?_

_-_

I have no idea what being sick like Harry feels like, but it can't be any worse than how I feel now. The tearing and expansion of flesh that comes with the transformation is horrible; I am certain death will be less painful. Having your mind roughly taken over by an unseen, unchecked and savage creature is unbearable by any standard, even if for only fifteen minutes because of the Wolfsbane potion. Slowly gaining back ones mind is like climbing Mount Everest without oxygen; it leaves you aching, cold, and short of breath, but it can be worth every nuance of pain that comes with it. Still other times I pray to have the wolf mind back, they know how to channel the intensity of the pain into something less horrendous and after all of the transformations that I've suffered, I have never mastered the art that the beast within has. Even with superior intellect in the body of a monster, I can't help myself any more now than I could when I was younger.

Pacing quietly around the attic for a few minutes to shake the last of the tingling, I soon turn to the doorway and steps that lead to the rest of the house. Pulling the latch down, I nose the door open and walk slowly back down to the living room to pick up the blankets I left down there earlier. Successfully draping them across my back I proceed once more to the attic after taking a tour of the house again. It feels so good to simply be able to be someplace natural while feeling so unnatural. I makes things less… less unbearable.

Like so many other nights, my thoughts turn to Harry. He must feel so alone right now, so frightened. As I curl up on the floor of the attic to rest for the evening all of my thoughts turn to him. In the past there were times that he was barely affected by the memories that haunt his nights but most nights were worse than the night before as if they were building in intensity for some sort of climactic ending that never came. In any instance I am still worried about him and I feel terrible about the terms in which I left. I should never have left that room leaving him to feel alone on this night.

I've been losing a lot of people's trust lately. I hope that I haven't lost his.

-

There is heat against the back of my robes which both soothes me with its warmth and makes me extremely uncomfortable. With a not-so-spry stream-of-consciousness I register the fact that I've barely moved from the green velvet couch in "my room" for nearly two days now. At the first sign of an impending headache I laid down on the musty old lounger to sleep, but when I awoke I realized that the pain in my head was no more a mere headache, but the forerunner of an onslaught against my whole system. I found myself suddenly and inexplicably too weak and too dizzy to even sit up properly and the feeling still consumes me, only now on a much larger scale. The heat of the fire slows my shivering, but increases the fire in my system along with it; the ever impending gnawing of vomit fighting to be released engulfs my every cell.

Beyond the passage of two days and nights, time holds no meaning for me anymore. Death Eaters have come and gone whether to change shifts, make sure I'm not causing trouble, or just to see me suffer. Snape has not been an exception. Vaguely I wonder if he's being sincere or playing his role. Either way, I try not to think on it too much; I know for a fact that I say things when I'm sick, things that normally sound silly but if the fact that he's a spy were to get out… I don't think anybody would laugh. _Quite the contrary actually_, I think, _I'll probably end up getting him killed_, and a new-found worry washes over me along with the clenching of my stomach and I know that I must fight this unless it should become my death.

With another wave of heat up my spine, I can feel the familiar, unwelcome tingle in my opening throat; it is hard to catch my breath through the small space that is left for my windpipe. _You can't do this!_ I shout to myself. _You can't let them see you like this! It will only make things that much worse_. If only I can make it to the bathroom, then maybe I can be sick in peace without an audience of forty documenting every hard-put groan of pain, every muscle twitch.

With an almighty heave, I try to force myself to sit but only proceed in trembling violently on my arms and increasing my vertigo to what has to be undocumented levels. I know the sweat is raining from face and whatever Death Eater is guarding the bathroom is watching what he can see of me with great interest through the holes in his face mask. I drop heavily back to my side, knowing that movement of any distance will require help, help that I will never find here.

With a decreasing sense of my surroundings, I settle for burrowing myself into the back joint of the old, rich furniture, letting the velvet soak in my sweat while goosebumps flush my skin. Distantly I realize the heat of the couch against my flesh; I've never felt anything so intense before, not even the heat waves of the summer. A moment's comprehension brings about the realization that the heat has to be from me, spilling into the fabric and bouncing back onto my body.

My neck feels intensely weak, like the watery layer on top of a jar of new jam and against my prayers what I feared the most is starting. My stomach has finally started its mutiny and I feel the intense heat and burning rise up my esophagus to spill forth on the ornate furniture. With an almighty swallow I manage to keep it all down, knowing that this will not be the last time that I try and hide my illness from those that surround me and I swallow once more for good measure, stealing a gasp of dusty-couch air while I still can.

My throat stings but I try to push the thought aside. Instead I think of that Cara woman. _Where did she come from? Who is she? Is she even alive?_ I think, and bury myself further into the corner as I swallow down another uprising of illness. I know I won't be able to do this for very long, but I make a pact with myself to fight it until my death.

_What kind of being comes from the sea smoke and glows blue? Is she an echo like my parents were? Maybe she was horribly murdered by the Death Eaters before me and has come back to ease my passing_, I think and suddenly wrap my arm around my stomach with another more difficult swallow, the sweat running down my face to the soft fabric below me. Suddenly the only thing on my mind is torture chambers and hexes… even rape… Maybe if I ever get out of here, I'll ask her but then maybe I shouldn't; if she was held by the Death Eaters, it must have been horrible for her like it has been for me. I fight back a cough that will no doubt bring more than intended and settle for a shaky breath and a firmer grip on the couch cushions. Perhaps I should think of something else to divert my mind. Cara doesn't seem to be helping at all.

I long to think about those that I have left behind. Ron, Hermione, the Weasley family in general. Professor Dumbledore… one thing that I have done the most here is think and the headmaster has never been far from mind. With a flush a shame, '_or is it another attack of whatever virus I've caught?'_ I recall the terms in which I left him: his office in shambles and my elderly mentor and original non-related protector crying; I had yelled at him, frustrated, guilt-ridden and scared to say the least. The torrent of emotions that followed in the wake of that meeting will probably never be matched. How could they? I've lost everybody, now including him.

It's been weeks that I've been locked up here and no one has come for me. Why would they? They know the kind of pain that I bring. Why fight for what will only fight back?

-

Sleeping as a werewolf seems ridiculous to some. When most people think of the accursed, they imagine bloodlust and terror, raving animals only keen on biting out the throat of an innocent being. That's the way it was and occasionally still is; the Wolfsbane potion combats all of that but societal thought is much slower than science. With my own mind in this heathen body I do as I please, and since I have been lacking in sleep for the last three weeks, sleep is all that comes to my mind. Sleep and Harry.

-

I awoke at 1:30 in the morning hearing a loud thud from down the hall. Not used to noises in the house, I snapped awake before remembering that I had a house guest. It was two weeks into his tenure in my humble abode and one week since Harry had achieved a full nights rest. I was almost ready to roll back over and fall asleep when I realized there were no footsteps going down the hall, down the stairs; there was no click of the bathroom door, no running water in the sink. There was no sound in fact and after a week of night terrors, the lack of sound made me more uneasy than if he had been screaming.

Reluctantly, and I'll admit, a bit nervously, I swung my legs over the side of my bed, throwing back the covers and old quilt that had been made by my grandmother. Without bothering to rub the sleep from my eyes, I started toward the door and paused in the frame calling, "Harry?" just to see if he was even awake. '_After all_,' I thought, '_maybe he just banged his hand against the wall in his sleep; Sirius used to do it all the time_.'

But what I heard in return was something that I least expected. A quick gasp of air from his own door frame; it sounded fought-for and hard to get, almost as if he was being choked. A more light-adjusted glance from where I stood showed nothing but a hand around his door frame, a hand gripped so tightly it produced white knuckles and accentuated veins in the moonlight.

"Oh God," I had said aloud and forcing the sleepiness away I passed the ten feet between us in no time, each step showing more of a difficult and heart wrenching scene that I would soon play a part in.

-

Three hours passed this way, lying stiffly, uncomfortably on a musty old couch, fighting back the sting of vomit longer than I'm sure anybody ever has, or ever thought possible. My body is weak. My shoulders are practically dead and the only part of me still functioning according to will is my mind and ability to swallow. I could cry with the discomfort of it all but refuse to let anything slip. The tears that do slide out are hidden in the fabric of the couch with the drops of sweat that have been raining upon me for who knows how long. I have long since stopped trying to contain the tremors and chills and have also stopped listening for the sounds of the Death Eaters surrounding me. Where there was once two guards, there are now at least four regular Death Eaters in the room just to watch me suffer.

I've heard very few names this night but know that somewhere in the crowd Macnair is watching along with Flint. It's been ages since I've even thought about the once Slytherin Quidditch captain, but I never thought that his father was one of _them_. Then again, Quidditch against Flint had been in a different time, a time free of Death Eaters and such harsh fear. Of course Mrs. Lestrange has made her appearance along with Rookwood over the course of the night; Mr. Malfoy has either been kept at bay or has not been summoned to work tonight. That horrible Calhoun man has been around though, jeering at me and taunting me relentlessly. His accent would still be on my nerves if I could discern it from any other sound in the room.

Out of nowhere, the space seems to be emptying of people, the footsteps are retreating and the decibels are dropping. My fight continues. With all of my efforts returned to my self-preservation, I don't even notice the familiar swish of robes, the fast, smooth footfalls and certainly not the voice that says, "Well Calhoun, it seems I get to spend a little more quality time with you. How special."

The curt "humph" is merely background chatter as my hearing clears up and this time the new voice, along with the slamming of the door, says, "Where's the boy? He's usually up and annoying somebody at this time of night."

"Over there," is the accented reply, "He's sleeping on the couch or something." Now registering the sounds I moan in both pain and regret that he's still here. If I could speak to let somebody know, I would gladly sell my kidney and half of my liver on the black market just to make him go away.

"Well now, isn't that interesting," the new voice says. As the sound comes closer and walks around the couch to stop before my backside, he says, "I've never seen a Potter leave their back to the world. Are you letting your lack of sentient intellect get the better of you? Or are you just hoping for an easy end to your apparent misery?"

I can't answer. I can't make a sound or I will lose everything that I have fought so hard against losing.

Unexpectedly and regrettably, a hand roughly catches my shoulder shouting "Answer me, Potter," as I finally do lose my battle. Two days worth of bread and water make their second world wide debut along with the few meager vegetables that they have given me at random. It is very painful, much more painful than I ever would have expected. It is over with quickly compared to how long I fought it and the pain in my chest is beginning to dissipate with the prevalence of puke seeping into the cushions below me. As I prop myself up for the final hurrah with a white hand gripping the back of the couch, I hear Snape, that voice, call out, "Jesus Christ, Potter! What the hell are you- Where the hell did all this come from?"

With a final choke and gag I fall helplessly back to the tainted fabric below in a sweating, shaking, exhausted heap and I listen to the banter between old foe and new.

"What happened? Didn't expect him to wake up or something you little pigtailed sissy?" Calhoun taunts.

"You better watch your mouth, school boy, and for your information, no. Since you are apparently deaf, he just threw up everywhere and now he's lying in it. How long has this been going on?"

"Well, it seems that he's been quite ill for about six hours now. First time he's actually done something about it though. I was wondering when he would finally just give in to the inevitable."

"Does the Dark Lord know of this?" Snape asks and I involuntarily shake in fear like so many others before me.

"I don't know," Calhoun replies. "Do I look like a psychic to you?"

"Well go tell him then. At least two things will be accomplished that way."

"Two? Ugly and a moron as well?" Calhoun jabs.

"The Dark Lord will be informed and I will be rid of _you_, you twit. Now go," Snape says without a trace of, well, of _absolute_ loathing.

As the door closes behind the Frenchman, I feel Snape's hand on my shoulder once more, this time it isn't so violent. "For Merlin's sake, Potter, didn't think things were bad enough already, did you? Why the hell do you always have to make things more difficult than they need to be?"

-

_"Oh God," I had said aloud and forcing the sleepiness away I passed the ten feet between us in no time, each step showing more of a difficult and heart wrenching scene that I would soon play a part in._

His face was both white and red at the same time; pale but flushed with illness, and his forehead was pressed firmly into the wall before him. It appeared that his hand gripping the door frame tightly was the only thing keeping him upright; his knees were bent into the wall keeping him leant forward, but were more inclined to let him collapse than stay standing. His other hand was held flat against the interior wall, fingers trembling in the soft street light from outside his window.

Approaching him quickly, I had placed a hand over his own and brought the other to the side of his face; he was burning with fever, the sweat and heat from his flesh lingering upon my own. He was clearly fighting not to throw up and his tears only made the situation seem that much direr.

"Oh God, Harry," I had said, "Come on, let's get you to the bathroom," but he had shaken me off, lightly tossing his head at the suggestion. "Yes, Harry, c'mon, you're not well," but again he shook me off. "Why not?" I had asked him, "What's wrong?"

"I can't do it," he gasped, "I tried."

"Yes, you can do it; I'll help you," I promised, ducking under his arm so it was over my shoulders but again he shook his head.

"I won't make it." He sounded so hurt and so miserable. "Please don't make me try."

It was heart wrenching. I could see the determination in his face shadowed by a lost hope of a losing battle and I changed tactics to ease his mind. "Alright, I promise I won't. But you're very sick, let's at least get you back in bed," I said as gently I began to peel his fingers from the doorway.

"No!" he cried and snapped his hand back down. "I won't!"

He was so forceful in his actions that it took me aback and indeed I stepped away from him momentarily, but the shock of his speed and intensity weakened him even more than before and with a paling of his face he dropped a few more inches on the wall, only compensating by trying to press himself against it even more.

Regaining my composure and unsure of what I was doing, I stepped back to him placing a hand lightly on his back and again over his hand saying, "Sit down, at least. Please, it will make you feel better," but he would have none of it.

"I can't! Don't you understand?" he almost yelled, and retightened his drip on the jamb.

"Why can't you?" I challenged, "It will do you no harm."

"I can't let them see that I'm weak," he cried, a battle of sobbing and showing no pain wracking his small, huddled form.

Again taken aback, I now knew where this was coming from, at least some of it, and I said, "They are not here. They cannot hurt you while you are with me," but he didn't seem to hear me or care that I had spoken. I moved a hand to the back of his heated neck and said, "Don't do this to yourself Harry, at least just let it out. There is no point in fighting it; it will only make you worse." Still he didn't want to hear. It was like talking to the wall. He had stopped shaking his head but still showed no real signs of listening to me. "I promise you, Harry, no harm will come to you in this house. I will not punish you, whatever you may do. I have and probably will never have reason to punish you. If you are afraid of me being angry with you for being sick, then don't," I told him, and slowly his face changed to look doubtful of the certainties that he held on to. Slowly, he looked as if he wanted to trust me.

"I'm not just your Secret Keeper, Harry," I tried, "I'm your friend."

The magic words said, he gave up his battle and collapsed to the floor in an unceremonious and very ill heap as I shifted to quickly lower him at least half-gracefully to the floor and repositioned around him to provide what comfort and aid that I could. Gently wrapping my forearm across his chest, the other across his shoulder blades, I held him up as he ridded himself of all that he could, physically and, I think, emotionally as well before hanging limply in my arms, spitting the remnants and after taste into the pool on the floor. He sat there on his knees, arms trembling as they proved to be pillars anchoring him to the ground before I whispered '_Scourgify_,' wiping away all traces of defamation and leaving behind a sparkling clean floor that he refused to look at. With his eyes closed tightly against my fix of his illness, I couldn't tell if he was crying or merely breathing heavily after the events of the night, either way he hung his head, possibly in shame for what he had done but I paid that no mind. I again brought a hand to his face and still the fever lingered. It was then that I convinced him to get back into bed and with small difficulty I helped him to his feet.

After stumbling the few feet to the other side of the room, I set him down on the edge of his bed and turned back for the door, promising to be right back; I was off to fetch a thermometer, cool cloth, a glass of water, and a bin.

I remember stumbling down a few of the steps to the kitchen, my mind a myriad of thoughts, and groping through the cabinets for the thermometer I knew I had stored somewhere. The glass of water easily found and the wet cloth draped over my forearm, I rubbed the fatigue from my face with my free hand. Two weeks, that's all it had been. If this illness really was induced from memories while he was sleeping then our countdown was continuing: two more weeks and we would have to take him to the hospital for treatment. _There has to be a better way. If I'm not helping him then I'm doing something wrong. I don't want to send him to that place_. _Maybe seeing Ron and Hermione again will ease the severity of these bouts of sleep-induced terror_; I decided to talk to Dumbledore about it in the morning before heading back to Harry's room, up the stairs and to the right.

I knocked lightly on the jamb before entering and found him tucked safely back in bed, the misery still evident on his face. Depositing my items on the desk beside him, I held out the thermometer that he accepted without question. I turned back to the window to allow a little less light in when I heard an odd humming coming from behind me. Spinning to find the origin of said sound, I almost laughed aloud to find that it really was Harry, his eyes tired and half closed, but his voice just as strong as ever, practically going to town on what sounds a lot like '_Viva Las Vegas_.'

The first verse completed, I sat down beside him and relieved him of the piece of glass he bore, swiping his hair back with the cloth and I left it on his forehead, reading '_102.6 degrees_,' from the silver mercury within.

"Well, it's not too bad," I said aloud, "but it's certainly not great either. And I certainly hope it's the fever making you delusional that has driven you to hum Elvis songs," I tease. Just like his father, he's in love with… interesting American music.

His weak smile practically laughed back at me and he said, "Sorry, I couldn't resist," but his smile soon faded and again he looked self-conscious, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he said honestly and I knew he was apologizing for being sick.

"Don't be sorry, you've done nothing wrong. A little touch of the flu did not cause the fall of Rome," I told him. "Maybe a breakout of plague…" I trailed and again he softly laughed, that true smile returning ever so slightly to his features. "We'll get through this, Harry, don't you worry. But keep in mind, a werewolf with the flu is like a four year old with a cold… crying, screaming, whining… you're going to be resorted to house-elf standards if you get me sick too," and again he laughed. "You'll be all right. We'll talk to Kate in the morning; maybe she'll know of something to make you feel better, huh?" But as he gave another small nod and his smile faded, I knew that this was going to be more difficult than I hoped and slowly my eyes flutter open from an unrealized sleep.

Once again I find myself lying as a wolf on the attic floor, covered in blankets; the moon still high.

A broken clock reads 6:30 a.m. If only it were true. It must be closer to two but again I slide up to my feet to pace the house in quiet irritation and as I pass the large phoenix painting on my dining room wall I am struck with a pang of fear and guilt.

What the hell is happening at the Order meeting tonight? And what ever happened to one hateful Severus Snape?

-

Closing note: Whew, long chapter this time! I simply couldn't find a place to stop it! I really do hope you enjoyed it what with its somewhat unnatural time and character shifts (can you tell that I've been reading a lot of Dan Brown?). And again, I honestly would have had this out sooner but with being sick, having recouping issues, and then writing about somebody else being sick, I just wasn't getting better, thus the praising of the cracker…

Before I jump to little notes I have a question for y'all… I don't remember what I was reading but I was reading a REALLY good fic like a month and a half ago and didn't have time to review and I forgot to bookmark it so it's like, _gone_ and I'm pretty sure I got it off of one of your favorites lists… All I remember is that Harry was at the Dursley's and wasn't feeling well (and was seeing flashing lights for some reason) and Dudley was mad at him so he ripped all the flowers off the rosebushes which of course made Uncle Vernon mad and somehow Harry ended up asleep outside and is woken up by Remus, Dumbledore, and Sirius before Sirius quite elegantly turns Uncle V into a cockroach (his worst fear.) That's all I really remember of the story but does this story ring a bell to anybody? 'Cause it was really kick ass and I want to know what happens! A little help? Please? I love you…! :D lol! Anywhoo, on to mini notes!

Emmy: Nope, not aiming for doctor-hood… I'm just fascinated by bio-stuff… I have more stuff like that in my other fic "Tell it to My Face" if that kinda junk interests you as well! And it's great to have you!

Elven Warrior1: haha… Between the Lions is awesome!

Thanks for all of the reviews, you guys! I love 'ya! (And I must concede, I really am sorry for taking so long… please don't hate me.):D

I hope everybody's summer is off to a rockin' beginning and that John Mayer and Maroon 5 are coming to YOUR town too, because let's face it, that many hotties on one stage at one time can brighten ANYBODY'S summer! Have a "bega-omega" week, y'all! :P

> Tini :D


	12. Hero

July 25, 2004

Disclaimer: "Small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere." - J.R.R. Tolkien, _The__ Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring_

Author's Note: "Good things come to those who wait/ they say patience is a virtue/ But all I've got is the time it takes me to hurt you." (-BBMak) Sorry guys.

Before we jump into Chapter 12, congratulations are in order to Leggo-my-Legolas, Kate, Nadezhda and Alternativelyspliced for picking up song titles and jumping into the never-ending saga of Harry-ville. Wiccan, I swear know where you are going, but it'll take some time to get there…. And more congratulations are in order for Amy who picked up the song title "Broken" of Chapter 11, which is by Seether, featuring Amy Lee of Evanescence! Look for yourself in the future as well!

As always, more notes at the bottom and I hope you enjoy the read!

* * *

All I can do is cry. I haven't cried in years. Even after Cedric died and Mrs. Weasley held me close as if she were my very own mother, the tears never actually came out, but now here I lie on a cold, hard wood floor and all I can do is cry. I am surrounded and covered by a raging torrent of flies, cockroaches, mantises and tarantulas. They are crawling, slithering, inching and pacing their way down the length of my body and there is nothing I can do to stop them. If I try and brush them away their places are quickly recovered by the thousands more ants, millipedes, and worms that cover the floor. They are creeping their way under me, into the sleeves and neck hole of my shirt, up my pant legs and into my shoes and all I can do is cry.

My fever rages to a point of incoherency, my muscles ache horribly and my stomach maintains its mutiny against my safety. It's painful to breathe only made that much worse by the fact that I can't breathe through my nose; the smaller insects get sucked in with my breath so instead I am forced to breath through my mouth where I feel another hissing cockroach teeter across my chin to look into the abyss beyond my teeth. Already a mantis is working its way down to my uvula and I dare not spit it out. Instead, my jaw trembles with fear and disgust while I try to shift in my place, the attempt is useless however the billions of bugs still surround me.

It's not the larger insects that are doing me in, but the smaller ones: the ants marching in my ears and biting at the soft flesh of my ear drums to take back to their colonies, the tiny tarantulas making their way into my nostrils to check out how spacious my nasal cavity actually is. I am sobbing on the floor in utter helplessness, I am so afraid but not just from the bugs, I've never really feared them in my life but their biting and spitting are weakening me mentally and physically. I just want the world to end, a nuclear warhead to go off, something. Even if the cockroaches survive the nuclear winter as predicted, it will still be better than the millipedes pinching their way up my chest on the inside of my shirt to crawl over my neck and travel behind my ears. I battle with myself to swat at them and finish off at least one of the monsters before I go as I'm sure I am near death, but I'm well aware that if you kill one, they will all come. I don't want to bring their wrath down upon me anymore in the faint hope that I will still be rescued.

The room I'm in seems cavernous but is truly not much larger than a small bedroom, probably about the size of my room on Privet Drive. There are no lights here, no windows to release me from the darkness and only two observers: the Death Eater that led me into this hellish pit in a fevered daze only to knock me down and bind me to the floor, and the Dark Lord himself. They stand in the corner near the door, a spell or maybe primal fear keeping the insects firmly away from them, always repelling them back to me.

Again, I feel some large, alternatively spliced mantis picking its way across the palm of my outstretched hand and it works its way up my partially exposed forearm. The weight of roaches climbing through my hair makes my head tilt back ever so slightly in a vain attempt to make them slip off, but to no avail. A rather large one has mounted my face and I squeeze my already tightly closed eyes shut even tighter as it clambers haphazardly down to my neck. Still, the bugs are trying to enter my system, the mantis hell bent on making it down to my throat. I start to gag as it presses on the soft palate of my tongue and it brushes against the hard palate on the roof my mouth. I try and cough to dislodge it, but it grabs hold on the insides of my teeth and doesn't budge. Still the tears fall down my face and I try desperately to cough this thing as far away from me as possible but it's not working. If it makes it down any further, I know I'm going to throw up.

Not for the first time, I desperately think '_I would give anything to be allowed to go home.'_

-

Two thirty in the morning and still no word from the Order. Sometimes they send word to me on these nights so I'm not completely in the dark as to what's happening and I'm certain they would have done so this night. With such an intense Death Eater meeting tonight there was worry that Severus was in danger, especially considering the circumstances. I tell myself again that he'll be fine, he's a natural born liar and being _the_ master of Occlumency we have nothing to be concerned over. Except…

Cara.

I had mentioned her again after at least two years of not saying a word.

I don't think any man has a loved a woman so strongly as Severus Snape has loved her. The dark and greasy appearance of the potions master has always hid a sensitive interior, a mind for the romantic, and a heart for only one woman. I was there in late seventh year, studying on the cloud-covered grounds of Hogwarts underneath the tree by the lake when I heard him approach. He was walking back from the direction of Hogsmeade and he had his books along with him.

'Sorry I'm late,' he had said not bothering to contain the smiles that he wore.

Caring more about why 'Mr. Brooding and Misunderstood' was grinning like a little girl at a tea party than his tardiness for our study session, I had asked, 'What's with you?'

'What?' he asked evasively. 'What are you on about?'

'I have rarely seen you smile before and certainly not like that,' I replied. Taking a wild guess at the source of his jubilance I asked, 'Who is she?'

After a moment his smile dropped immediately and once again his façade was up, but it was a shakier than usual.

'Oh come on, don't be a sissy,' I prodded him while closing my book. 'It's not like I'm going to go screaming it into the Great Hall.'

He bit his lip as if he were debating something of great importance (a trait I have rarely since seen him repeat) before he said, 'Do you swear?'

'What?' I asked him with a laugh. 'Are you kidding me?'

'Do you swear?' he persisted.

'Sure, whatever,' I passed off.

'Swear it on your mother's grave,' he said forcefully and I was totally taken aback. The death of my mother was beyond a sensitive subject and nobody talked about her, especially not in front of me. 'Swear to me that you will never tell a soul, especially not your little "Marauder" posse.'

'Don't you think that's little extreme for your first girlfriend?' I asked, still thrown off from the mother comment.

'No.'

It was short and to the point. He stared at me intently; I knew he was searching my eyes. He's always done it, it's how he determines whether he can trust someone or not.

Hesitantly I said, 'Yeah, I swear… on my mother's grave, I will not tell a soul.'

He dropped all of his books when those words passed my lips and he flopped back on the grass like the carefree Snape I had seen approach me barely two minutes ago.

'She's perfect,' he said and his voice was gushing with pure admiration and love. 'I saw her when I was walking down the street to the Shrieking Shack. She is _so_ beautiful.' I had never heard him say anything like that before. James, Sirius, Peter and I had always joked that one day he would have to create a potion to mix with his beloved Dark Magic to _make_ himself a girlfriend. We never thought that he'd actually find a real one. 'She has dark hair and green eyes with flecks of purple and gold in them.'

'Purple and gold?'

'Yeah,' he said dreamily. His eyes were closed and he sighed contentedly. This was so unexpected I wanted to burst with laughter, but instead I just smiled and waited for him to tell more.

'She has a smile like a goddess and teeth that are as bright as the most heavenly pearls. She walks as if on water and her hair just flows out behind her like midnight waves on powder-fine sand. She doesn't even walk… she just, glides or floats along like a ghost, except that she's alive of course. She's hypnotizing and all time stopped around her. I swear, Remus, the world went into slow motion when she passed me on the street this afternoon.' He sighed again and gazed up lazily at the deep grey clouds high above us. He didn't speak for awhile but I couldn't bring myself to break his spell of happiness by bringing up the fact that we needed to study for our Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T.S. Instead I gazed out over the crystal lake, lightly running the tune of "Sweet Afton" through my mind.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet. 'When she smiled at me I thought I had died, died and gone to the Elysian fields where the sun is always shining and the flowers are always in bloom.'

Severus Snape… love at first site… who would have thought it possible?

'So did you talk to her?' I asked, thinking it would be highly amusing if he went through all of this swearing business and gushing over her appearance if he hadn't even managed to stutter a 'Hi.'

'Yeah,' he said. 'Yeah, I did.'

'And?'

'And I think she likes me too.'

'And?' I persisted, unable to hide the smile in my voice.

'Her name is Cara,' he said and again closed his eyes.

'Is she anybody I would know?' I prodded, and then his demeanor changed back into the elusive Snape that hid in the dungeons to make potions and casted bogey spells on James and Sirius, the same Snape that made me swear secrecy.

'You can't tell anybody,' he repeated.

'I already swore I wouldn't,' I said. 'What's the big deal anyway? She's just a girl… Ugh, she's not like, your cousin or anything is she?' I asked, part joke, part serious.

'Ugh, no, what's wrong with you?' he asked.

'Then what is it?' I asked again.

He looked down at the ground as if still debating something within himself when he finally said, 'She's a Muggle.'

'So?' I asked. 'What's the matter with that?'

'Hello?' he said incredulously, 'look what House I live in! If they find out I have feelings for a Muggle they'll string me up and bring her along for the ride, even if she doesn't feel the same way! That's why you have to swear not to tell anybody. I can handle myself in my own house, but I don't know if I can protect her too.'

'_Wow_,' I thought, '_he's really serious about this if he's thinking about her safety_.'

'How long have you known this girl?' I asked.

'About three hours,' he said a bit sheepishly.

'Severus, you are one of the leaders of your house, you were marks away from being Head Boy. If you show up with a Muggle girl on your arm, maybe they'll turn coat and see there is nothing wrong with Muggles. You could use her to influence the rest of your house into tolerance.'

'I'm not going to use her! I love her!'

'It would be better than trying to hide her though, wouldn't it?' I argued.

'No,' he replied firmly. 'Members of my house don't just change their entire way of thinking on a knut like members of your house. I'm sure I'll be taking a lot of heat just for eating with her in The Three Broomsticks, it'd be better to just leave it at that.'

'You're just going to call it quits then? After one lunch? Whatever happened to 'I love her'?' I challenged him, not angrily, more as if we were on a debate team.

'I never said that!' he argued. 'I just said that I'm not going to publicize the matter and you better not either. Don't forget, I'm sort of 'in' on your little secrets,' he sneered.

So there was the reason that he was telling me about all of this. I may have been an enemy, but I'm a loyal person with too many secrets that he could blackmail me with should I turn against him.

I waited a moment and nodded before quietly asking, 'Do you honestly think that they would kill her?'

This time he spoke quietly saying, 'Maybe, maybe not. But if they know about her and for some reason want to get to me, I wouldn't be surprised if they use her as bait… I don't know, Lupin, I've known her for fractions of time but already I can see myself marrying her and being with her for the rest of my life. I don't want anything to happen to her, especially not because of me…'

That cloudy day in seventh year wasn't the last time he confessed to me about his feelings for Cara. By swearing the deepest oath I would make and knowing that my silence would serve us both I had inadvertently become his confidant of sorts, even if it was a bit reluctant on both sides. Now, after two years of silence when it came to matters of the most sacred of names, I had drudged her up out of the abyss of his mind and I knew he would be and most likely is fraught with worry. It's almost been twenty years that they've been the love of each others lives and now I fear that my recklessness may be cutting their time short.

The mere thought of it makes me sick.

-

"Open you eyes, Potter," a gruff voice says inches from ear. It's like an explosion in my mind and I close my eyes tightly against the pain. The tingle of millions of needle point legs still flush along my flesh and I spit up a little once more for good measure. I can still feel the mantis on my tongue and the spiders on my ears; their crawling gives me the willies and I finally swat them away because I simply can't take it any more.

"I said stand up, boy!" the gruff voice demands of me and I feel his thick fingers wrap suffocatingly around my upper arm as he pulls me to my feet, my bonds no longer in place. My feet slip on the millipedes though and my knees can't support me anymore. I collapse back to the floor as the room comes to a spinning halt around me and I immediately brush another hissing cockroach out of my hair with trembling fingers.

The hand that grasps my arm tugs at me again and I try to stand but only succeed in falling flat on my face, coughing as if I have just run a marathon with no training. The gruff hand releases my arm and I cradle it in front of me, fighting just to stay on my knees. I brush a whole line of ants off of my face and try to concentrate on just staying on my knees, but truth be told, I can't for the life of me think of why I want to do such a thing. I would rather be lying in a cool bed in a cottage bedroom with my mother there to take care of me. If only she were still here I know that she could take away my pain, force the coughing and vomiting to leave me be.. to keep all other people at bay. Her words would send me to sleep and she would keep me safe through the night without a second thought for her own well being… What I wouldn't give to see her once more.

"Potter, let's go," the man says again, this time trying to force me up using both hands but I only tumble back to the ground again.

"Here," another voice says, "you take that side, I'll take this side," and I can feel four hands on me now as two men drag me to my feet, throwing my arms over their shoulders so they can haul me down the walkways to 'my room' once more.

"What took you so long?" yet a third voice says as I am dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

"Must have been bitten by something," a voice that sounds roughly like MacNair says. "Kid won't stop throwing up and can't stand at all. Banner and I had to drag him down here as it is."

"Well, just put him up against the wall then, that way if he's sick again it doesn't pool all over the floor." _Oh God, I know that voice_. Calhoun.

"Whatever you say," MacNair says, perhaps with a bit of annoyance. Apparently Calhoun is still quite low in the ranks, but likes to pretend that he's at the top.

Just as I'm trying to recover from the sprawled position I was left in, my hands are pulled out from under me and I'm slid across the floor into the wall with a thud. I flop over onto my back, praying that the windows are open so that the breezes can mop the sweat from my face.

"Thank you, gentlemen, that will be all," Calhoun says and distantly I know that MacNair and Banner are leaving. I faintly hear the click of the door and, for awhile, nothing more. The next sensation I have, however, is that of somebody carefully opening the buttons on the front of dirty and tattered shirt and hands resting on my chest and my stomach. The touch is careful, yet diagnostic; it comforts me but the front of my mind is so hazy I don't understand why. The next thing I feel is my head being lifted lightly from the floor and being set to rest on a bundle of cloth before yet another hand presses against my forehead. It is only when I feel the floorboards reverberating away from me and still that hand lays on my face that I realize there are two people in the room with me.

I don't understand what these men are doing, but I'm not really afraid. The hand on my forehead is cool and is alleviating some of the pressure I feel. I am faintly aware of the hand shifting its position before I feel ice cold water poured onto my brow and I squirm under the sudden change in temperature.

"Lie still, Potter, don't move." The icy water is poured over me again but this time when it is finished, the hand moves to press what cool water lingered on it to my cheeks and my chest.

"Potter, drink this," he says and lifts my head up just enough to reach the lip of a glass that he holds. "It's just some water but there's some fever reducer in their as well. You need to drink every last drop for anything to work, understand?"

Blankly I try to agree but it's apparently good enough. With the glass drained, my senses jump back into a world of focus; I suddenly hear the seagulls and feel the cool, sea wind surround the room. I also feel footsteps return to the front door of the room, but the door stays closed.

"Good, very good. Now, I want you to try to eat this. It's going to taste horrible, but it may be the only thing that can save your life right now, do I make myself clear?"

Again I try to nod but I feel some form of stale bread being placed in my mouth before I can finish. The rye-like bread is difficult to chew and more than once I try to cough it out for the taste but the man keeps his hand over my mouth so that I can't. "Chew it up," he says plainly and I continue to do so, even though the taste is quickly melding into the horrible taste of aspirin when left in your mouth for too long. Reluctantly, I swallow it down but he forces me into eating more before I can protest. Soon it is gone and, feeling the sweat pour down my face amidst the water that was poured over me, I have a sinking sensation that I have been fooled into eating something poisonous; the only thing on my mind right now is throwing it all back up again. The man must be able to read my face very clearly because he quickly tells me something I had never thought I'd hear.

"Alright Potter, this is your ultimate test. Do you remember how hard you fought three nights ago to hide how ill you were? You have to fight like that again right now. You cannot let anything you have just eaten come back up, do you understand me?"

But I can't make any noise beyond an aching moan for what this man has done.

"I know it hurts, Potter, believe me," he says, and he gently begins to do up the buttons of my shirt once more. "But if you let anything out, it will not just be painful for you, it will kill both of us for helping you and you don't want that kind of guilt on your conscience, now do you?" I can feel the tears being to well up in my eyes again. How could this person do this to me? I can't fight anymore, I'm completely spent. Why didn't they ask me if I wanted help first?

"Don't cry, boy. You are no longer eleven years old; you are a man now and men don't cry when faced with something hard. They suck it up and do what they must with bravery, and we all know that you have more than enough of that to spare." Now I feel him tenderly rolling me up onto my side facing the wall and he soothingly rubs my back saying, "I know you can do this, Potter. Don't let me down," before he gently backs away.

"Well?" I hear Calhoun whisper from far across the room.

"It's going to be hard," the voice returns. "If he weren't so weak it wouldn't be such a big deal. He has to keep it all down for the hidden potions to work. If he doesn't, I fear he will steadily get worse until we can either convince the Lord into letting us help him properly or until he is rescued."

"How long will it take for them to work?" he presses.

"He'll need to fight down the nausea for at least twenty minutes. If he can accomplish that, the potions will drop him into a deep sleep while they try to rebuild his immune system. If he can't, just clean up the mess so the potions don't show and…and pray."

"What if he's sick after he's fallen asleep?" Calhoun asks.

"That will be fine. The ingredients will fully be in his blood stream by then, there will be nothing suspicious to trace back to anyone. Just try to make sure he lasts the full twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank you, Severus. Take care of yourself." Calhoun says.

"I'll see you tonight," the voice of Professor Snape returns and with a soft _pop_ he is gone.

-

"Remus?" a voice calls from my fireplace in the living room. "Remus, are you there?" It's Professor Dumbledore.

I try to hide my anxiety by walking into the room instead of sprinting in my wolf form and I let out a short bark as I approach the head in the green flames.

"I see you are up and about. I take it your potion is working well?" he asks and I nod my large, wolf head. "No headaches and such?" This time I shake my head. "Excellent, Madame Pomfrey asked that I question you on that." He paused for a moment before jumping right into what he had to say, the news I had been waiting for all night.

"We've just had a call from the hospital, Remus. It seems that Harry is very ill," and again I nod my head. "Were you aware of this?" he questions curiously. I raise my front paw and try to flip-flop it over as if to say 'sort of.' "Very well, then-" he begins but I bark again to stop him and whine in hopes that he'll understand that I don't have any details.

"Of course," he says and I lie down on the rug before the hearth and listen intently as he tells me how he's been dreaming… always dreaming… and how they are upsetting him into illness. This is of course not the first time it has happened. We went through almost a week of just dealing with his nightmare sicknesses, they are hardly an uncommon occurrence. "…his fever is dangerously high right now, but they are doing everything that they can to bring it down. He's been asking for you, they say. He keeps repeating that he wants to go home.

"Remus, I know that you have been doubting yourself lately but I don't think you should. You've really affected Harry this last month, I know that he really appreciates everything that you've done for him." When I look at him curiously he says plainly, "Occlumency lessons. While Professor Snape seemed to bring up all of the horrible and frightening moments of Harry's past, I seemed to bring out his more hopeful or happy moments. A lot of his recent ones contained you."

I close my eyes and turn my head to the side, still not believing that I've really done anything to help him.

"I could feel the pain surging beneath the surface during those lessons," he continues, "but he truly believed that things were going to get better with you and they were.

"You do realize that you've filled Sirius' role for him, don't you?" he says after a short pause, and now I look up sharply. What? He barely even spoke to me. He seemed just as bad off when he arrived as when he left.

"He sees the same care in you that Sirius gave him, that his father would have given. You talk to him, listen to what he has to say, you've given him comfort when he's frightened, you know personally how to help him. He's opening up to more people because of you. Whether directly or indirectly, he's getting better because you've been with him."

Solemnly I shake my head. He couldn't have been getting that much better. The nightmares became more frequent and powerful. Why would they get worse if I was helping?

As if reading my thoughts he says, "Perhaps his memories have been reopened as a way to open him up, to force him to talk about and cope with the past. There are any number of reasons why they would increase in severity and I'm sure none of them have to do with you."

There were so many things that I wanted to shout about to him in concern with Harry's memories, everything from why they made him so agitated, to paranoid, to ill. They couldn't just be getting worse so that he'd talk, could they? That seemed almost simple in light of his situation. Besides, we had talked about it. I know everything that happened to him in that lighthouse from multiple angles. Reluctantly, he told me everything, even things he refused to tell Dumbledore; Severus had filled us all in on the arrangements and treatment of Harry while he was there and Jaycee had proven an amazing fount of information in concern to the young man I've spent a straight month with. But Jaycee was gone. I wonder if his family even knows.

Jaycee and Snape, the two most honorable men in all of humanity for crossing the line of decency and light into the black pits of deception and evil in order to preserve the lives they might never be able to enjoy or cherish.

"Severus has come back, by the way, as I'm sure you've been pacing your home over that for a while. He made it through a very low key questioning but he is positive that there will be a reckoning to the Spanish Inquisition soon. Why didn't you tell me that Mr. Calhoun was no longer with us? Why didn't you let me know that he was so worked up over it?"

The best I can do in the body of a wolf is stand up to pace and make a poor attempt at shrugging my shoulders. I can hardly give a soliloquy here.

"It was not exactly what I planned to hear this evening, that we have been charged with fabricating a life for a deceased friend, that we have only one spy once more. That Severus is on the suspected mole list just as we thought. When were you planning on telling me any of this?" he asks a bit angrily and my response is just as cold. I grab a wizard photo of Harry and Leggo Nadezhda in Leggo's backyard off the table and drop it to a standing position in front of the fire giving a short bark as a call to attention. '_I've sort of been a little preoccupied here._'

"Surely you must have had some time to contact me. We never would have been able to stop him from going even if we wanted to, but we could have at least talked him through it."

I snort extra loudly through my wet nose at his comment recalling Severus' angry phrase directed at me only hours ago.

_"I've just talked to you about it and I don't feel any better. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go prepare myself for the meeting which you wouldn't understand anyway."_

We couldn't have talked him through making a sandwich at that point in time let alone preparing him for Voldemort. It was something he had to do entirely on his own, not because he was difficult to deal with, but because dealing that closely with the Dark Lord is more like arranging an entire gourmet Christmas dinner by yourself, not slapping some jam onto a piece of bread. It's an art form, not an instant watercolor page. He wouldn't, and didn't, let us help him; it's just the way he is.

My silence clearly marks my thinking and Dumbledore's as well. I'm sure his musings are quite identical to mine.

In the silence he whispers, "Who is that in your photo of Harry?"

Looking at him once more I jerk my head back as if to motion behind me. '_The neighbor boy_,' I try to get across and, as always, he seems to understand perfectly.

"Is he a wizard?" Dumbledore asks and I shake my head no, feeling my shaggy fur sway back and forth long after I've finished moving. "_No, Kate and Leggo are Muggles_," I want to say. "_They are very much Muggles but the kindest people you will ever meet."_

It's no exaggeration to say that neither Harry nor I would have survived a number of days without her. She was always a gift from God but this last month just fortified it that much more.

"Do they know?" he asks explicitly and again I raise my paw to flip-flop over. Only Kate knows, Leggo's mother… my best friend; she's known for about two weeks after twenty-eight years of not knowing. Her reaction was not entirely what I had expected…

It was daybreak of the morning I found Harry standing ill in his doorway, white as a sheet and shaking like a leaf in the fall. He was ill twice more before the night was through. It pained me to see him so ill; unable to fall asleep once more, I had sat with him and supported him when he needed me. Always the embarrassed flush followed his rounds of sickness, masking the pallid gray tone of his unhealthy cheeks. He had lain there in his bed on his back staring at his speckled ceiling for close to an hour after his final release before working up any nerve to talk to me, but the conversation was short, strained. It really did nothing for either of us.

When day break finally came, it illuminated the homes across the street with a fine, shimmery shade of lavender. The dewey grass of the kempt and unkempt yards glistened to their maximum capacity before their lives were to be stripped away by the scoarching heat of the mid-August sun.

Glancing at Harry it seemed he had finally fallen asleep, most unwillingly of course, but he slept just the same. Curled openly on his side, his eyes were tightly closed, almost as if he were in deep concentration. I refused to let that bother me; dreams or no dreams, he had needed his rest and so did I. I turned to look at his bedside alarm clock noting that it was now five-thirty a.m. It was too late to go to sleep now, I was certain he wouldn't sleep very long anyway. I stayed with him for another hour just watching, trying to catch whether or not he was sick because of his dreams or simply because he had caught something on one of his walks around the neighborhood. When at 6:30 he still had not stirred, I decided to give up my vigil for at least a strong cup of tea and the morning paper. Perhaps there would be some good news in it today, perhaps not.

Carefully so as not to let his desk chair squawk without my weight, I practically tip-toed out his door, skirting the creaking boards and mostly pulling his door to a close on the way out. I could finally breathe again. I stopped next to one of the windows in the hallway overlooking the backyard so as to watch dawn as she rose higher in the sky, searing away the shadows that can never leave the command of their masters. I rubbed at my stinging eyes; the fatigue was dragging them down.

Finally I turned away from the window and headed down to the kitchen yet again to make a very strong kettle of tea and not very quickly at that. I couldn't help looking out the windows again; I knew I shouldn't, but I felt trapped here, lost even. Just as Sirius must have felt, only worse. Gazing at the windows across the street, I spotted a dark, nearly black owl tottering to the interior branches of the mulberry tree out front and I sighed, heading sluggishly for and out the front door to retrieve the morning's _Prophet_.

A ways down the street I saw Danny Donough riding his bike towards me with the Muggle paper in hand. I whistled up the tree to claim and pay for _The Daily Prophet_ before Donough came any closer and I sighed again in relief as the black owl took flight while he was still two houses away.

"Hey Remus," a kind voice said from behind me and I gave a start. I hope to God she didn't just see me pay an owl for a newspaper. "What are you doing up so early? I always thought you were a night owl," she continued.

"I couldn't sleep," I called, turning back to face her. "Anton's not well, I'm afraid. He's very ill actually. We've been up most of the night," I said and ran a hand through my deceivingly graying hair, finishing by scratching my neck.

"Hey, Lupin!" Donough called in greeting and tossed his paper to my feet. "Ms. Nadezhda!" he said a bit more respectfully.

"Morning Danny," we both replied and turned back to continue talking. I shoved my _Prophet_ back inside _The Sun_ while she wasn't looking so that she wouldn't notice that I mysteriously had two newspapers, one with moving pictures even.

"Well, that's a shame," she said concernedly as we both begin walking towards her front porch. "What does he have? Cold? Flu?"

"The whole nine yards I'm afraid. He's been throwing up since shy of two this morning. High fever, says his cold but hates being under blankets. He doesn't like when I talk to him, says it makes his ears ring. Light's really been bothering him too."

"Wow. How's he doing now?" she asked.

"Just fell asleep a little bit ago actually. It's my first escape," and gently she laughed. "I'm not quite sure what to do. Any ideas? I mean, I'm not sick very often and when I am it's never as bad as he's got it now. I'm feeling a bit lost," and I sat down heavily on her porch swing.

"Have you tried giving him any medication for the fever? That might calm everything else down a bit too. Works like a charm on Leggo."

I smiled discreetly at the old cliché and said, "He won't try it; too afraid it'll come back up."

"That makes him sound pretty coherent if he's going through rational thought like that," she started.

"-But he's not," I cut in. "Not really, anyway. And he's so embarrassed about it all. I mean, that's not very normal is it?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Everybody is different. Leggo could be sick anywhere and not give it a second thought, but then again he is six years old. Maybe at one of the places Anton lived before he came to stay with you didn't treat him well when he was sick. Maybe he just feels bad that he kept you up all night. There are millions of reasons that would make him act that way, the only way of finding out the truth would be to ask him when he wakes up."

"I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right. Look who you're talking to here!" she teased and I again I couldn't help but laugh, that it until I heard a shrill whistle coming from my kitchen window.

"Oh no," I said, jumping to my feet and running back towards my house.

"What is it?" she called.

"I left the tea on! He'll be awake now for sure," I called back and I cursed myself under my breath. As I slowed to a jog in the kitchen and pulled the kettle off of the hot stove I realized that she had followed me in and was watching me trying to ease the heat from the accursed, steaming pot before it could do any more damage. As I finally got it to stop it's screeching cacophony I noticed she had stepped back into the foyer and was listening intently at the base of the stairs to see if Harry had woken up. I watched her, holding my breath for a long moment before she silently nodded. He was awake.

Carefully she began to mount the stairs and I followed right behind her, shaking my head at myself all the while. How could I let this happen? As we approached the door, she stopped and placed a hand on my arm to stop me and we stood for another moment, just listening. His room was silent, but the silence was far from natural. It was a tense silence that resounded painfully throughout the entire second story of the house. The damn pot sure had startled him. I made a silent vow right then and there to dismantle that blasted piece of kitchenware as soon as I had seen Harry coherent again.

Carefully stepping around her, I pressed the door open to see Harry sitting up in bed with, by far, the most vacant expression I have ever seen this side of Veritaserum.

"Anton?" I said cautiously. There was no response, and I continued my approach.

"Anton, can you hear me?" I asked him, now only feet away from his hunched form. Still, he didn't move, didn't acknowledge that I was even in the same room as him. Kate, I knew, was following in my footsteps and I began to worry that he might become overwhelmed when he finally snapped to and saw her standing there, but there was nothing I could do; I didn't want to turn her away. Inexplicably I felt better with her behind me. Instead, I reached to Harry's bedside and carefully picked up his glasses with one hand while using the other to lower myself in a sitting position in front of him on his bed. Kate took up my chair, still he remained motionless.

"Anton," I said again, hoping the name would snap him into awareness, "do you want to put on your glasses?" I tried, hoping that something as simple and normal to him as slipping his glasses on would ease his mind. When there was still no response I simply said, "I'm going to put them on for you, and I want you to look at me. Do you understand?"

Nothing.

"Harry?" I whispered.

Finally his eyes shifted upward and his blank eyes stared into mine. His hand groped for mine in which his glasses lay and together we slipped them onto his face. With the clarity of the world now before him his expression shifted into that of recognition and then one of confusion as his eyes fell on Kate.

"It's okay," I said to him simply and as per usual he took my word and nodded to her as he always does. She returned his polite and quiet gesture before he turned back to me. "Why don't you try to get some more sleep, Anton," I said, now confidant that he would respond to his given name, "or do you want some of the tea that woke you up?" I finish apologetically.

Without a word, he held up two fingers and then one. He wanted both, but tea first. I supposed that meant he was feeling better which suggested that he was sick because of his dreams. Another night down, another two weeks to go.

I nodded to him softly and told him to lie back down; I would be back in just one minute. Slowly, he did as I asked and I pulled his blankets back up over him despite the early morning heat, and Kate and I left the room to head downstairs once more.

With his door shy of closed we walked down the hallway and while she continued to walk plainly, I trudged down the wooden stairs, my hope for normalcy in Harry's life ebbing away just a little bit more.

While I fixed his tea for him, diluting it a great deal from what I had originally made, Kate and I spoke idly in the kitchen. For the most part it was small talk, nothing of any significance except when she asked if any of my applications to boarding schools had come back with any positive results. Teaching at Hogwarts was certainly not my first and only teaching experience. Beyond teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, I also taught mathematics and biology to Muggle children, of course those were the only two topics that she knew I taught as she herself is a Muggle. Only a few of my applications had gotten a response, one of which I had an interview for later on in the week and she wished me luck as most people do in such situations. I was certainly not above crossing my fingers for luck as well.

And after taking a cue from Kate, I ground up half of an aspirin and mixed it in along with the small amount of sugar that Harry liked in his tea before starting for the stairs once more. However what she said next was something I was praying she would have missed.

"Remus," she stopped me, "when we were still upstairs, why did you call Anton 'Harry'?"

* * *

-whew- That is it for chapter twelve kids! Perhaps a bit sporadic but it has everything I want in it. Did it have everything YOU wanted in it? lol… No worries, we'll return to the present tense again soon, I just felt that we needed some more info on new characters.

Thanks to everyone who helped me out with my missing fic problem! For those of you who are curious, the fic is called "Sanctuary" and it is by Xanthia Morgan. It is EXCELLENT! Go check it out!

The Dark Elfy Chick: -sobs- I missed the Maroon 5 hotness… did you enjoy them enough for the both of us? -is hopeful!- lol

NyxCrawler: Whoo hoo! I have a story people read at work!! Sa-WEET! That is so exciting! (seriously!) Thanks for dropping in!

Dadaiiro: It's okay if you don't really pick up everything… I think I'm the only one that really knows what's going on. But if you have any questions, feel free to drop me a line at ! Yep, Snape's hitched! Heehee!

Emmy: Did you catch up with the Maroon 5 and John Mayer? I wish I had!

ParanoiaIn2005: What did you think of the Kate and Cara intro? More on them later!

Erin: Oh no! How do I make Harry act like a girl? (I don't have any brothers so all I know is sister/girl actions…) Clue me in! I don't want him to be a girly-man! Lol!

ChipsChallenge: Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not trying to rip your Snape/Harry moment at the end there… I swear I've had it in my head for ages I just never have time to get it down and out! (Seriously, you know how slow I am at updating) I love your fic way too much to try and steal from it 'cause then you would hate me and not let me read it anymore! So, yeah, just thought I'd let you know that… :D

Fallen Angel: I'm glad my story brightened your day!

Nadezhda: Just curious, but is this your first name or last name, or a word, or a random jumble of letters? In any case, I think it is a gorgeous word! Oh, and how do you pronounce it? :D

And to Everyone: Thanks a million for dropping in for a read and I hope you enjoyed the long chapter! Hope you've all had wonderous summer vacations and that none of you are in wisdom-teeth pain like I am! (Fanfic Power!) lol!

Cheers,

Tini :D


	13. White Flag

August 18, 2004

Disclaimer: So one day I was walking down the street and somebody said, "Dude, is Harry Potter yours?" so I laughed at them and said, "No."

Authors Note: Hey all, so I decided to post halfway earlier than usual, hope you like it! And just so you know, there is a new name in the fic, "Quyllyan." It is pronounced "Cay-LEE-an." I thought it was hot and decided to make another character!

Congratulations are in order for aka-kitsune-chan and Teah Leafs for nabbing Chapter 12's title, "Hero" by Chad Kroeger from the Spiderman soundtrack! Yay!! And again for ParanoiaIn2005 (who is our favorite mystery character, Cara!) because she ALSO called the song title! Yay!!

Anywhoo, on with the tale! Enjoy!

* * *

"That's it now, just drink it slowly," I said soothingly to Harry as he sat precariously drinking his doctored tea in bed. "Very good," I praised him, lightly rubbing the vertebrae of his neck. "Do you feel any better now?"

His slight shoulders shrugged uncomfortably as he looked down to his lap but he after a moment he nodded just a little.

"Do you want any more?" I asked him in the same tones and he simply shook his head no. I set down the small glass on his desk beside him as quietly as I could; I know that clanging noises feel horrible when I'm sick and I don't wish to make him feel any worse than he already does… or rather did… I stood up a little, leaning over him as he moved to lay back in his bed and I helped to ease him onto his side; he's so lost, it seems, I hope it doesn't last long.

"Remus?" Kate whispers from Harry's chair but I silence her with a shake of my head. Harry doesn't seem to have noticed. With his eyes closed tiredly, he didn't seem to even be aware of the world around him. Despite what others may think, this small act of self awareness comforts me more than he could ever guess. Some of the more elite members of society would pass him off as being aloof or feeling superior to Kate and myself, but I was proud of the fact that he was so in tune with how he felt and that he was trying to help himself in one of the simplest ways possible. He was very brave for trying to rest again. Besides, I didn't want him to know that I may have blown his cover.

"I want you to try and get some more sleep, alright?" I told him pointedly, if unnecessarily.

A well pronounced grimace drastically marked his features and I immediately knew that my train of thought had been wrong.

"The sooner you start getting sleep, the sooner we start doing things that are actually half-way fun," I amended, but it didn't seem to do much good. He groaned audibly and allowed a hand to sweep across his face, pulling the sleep out of his eyes, before flopping open and fully extended past the rill of the mattress before him.

"How about I wake you up if it starts getting too late?" I offered and he quickly grabbed at the opening with an exhausted nod.

"Good," I said to him quietly, moving a hand up to check on whether or not his fever dropped at all over the last fifteen minutes. He did feel… lighter. Cooler wasn't the right word to describe it as he didn't feel closer to average temperature at all and "cooler" suggests a fairly drastic drop. His was perhaps one step behind "cooler," or perhaps only on the first step to becoming "cooler." In any case, he was working on it.

However, no matter how hard he tried, Harry still looked trashed, in need of a reformation in his current state but still he held on and, with my urging, tried to shift himself into a well-worked groove of comfort that he had formed the night before. I am still very proud of his strength, even if it is hazy in his fever.

I scrutinized him closely, watching as first his waist and shoulders visibly relaxed, fell slack and his arms and face quickly followed suit. I patted him lightly on the shoulder before urging him again to sleep well and standing up to leave. He forced a smile to try and prove himself worthy of such a menial task but still he looked at odds to the situation. I really couldn't blame him.

After a slow moment when his breathing conspicuously evened and toned out, Kate and I watched and waited before completely deciding that he had fallen into that quiet, black world of blissful healing and unawareness. I rubbed his back once more for additional comfort and the hopes that he'd sleep well into the morning, and maybe, _maybe_ even the afternoon. I looked at his slumbering form with one of my stern faces on, sarcastically thinking nothing less than, '_Yeah, I'll wake you up if it gets late. Ha!_' If Harry managed to sleep through the next two hours, I was going to bed myself. I was surprised I even made it that far.

"Remus," I heard Kate whisper behind me again but this time I turn around to look at her, my expression holding the same message as before. _'Not right now.' Not ever if we can help it, _is also on my mind, but not my face.

As we both approached the door I heard him stir, looking back I saw his eyes open. Kicking myself for leaving him and for not wanting to say anything as that tends to awaken him further, I offered only a small nod and gentle smile, a comforting look that exuded, _"Go back to sleep."_ His eyes fell closed of their own accord as his features softened in his slightly less-conscious state allowing Kate and I to escape his room to the hallway and beyond. Slowly I pulled the door mostly closed, avoiding the creak and the click of finality that would have left him alone.

We walked softly together down the length of the second floor hall and just as quietly down the stairs. When we reached the living room downstairs, I plopped into a chair resting my hand protectively over my eyes.

"You're exhausted," she commented in a whisper, walking around to the front of my chair. I didn't respond; I wasn't quite sure what to say. "I haven't seen you this tired in ages. When was the last time you slept through the night?" she asked. If I wasn't so tired I would laugh. I've asked that of Harry and myself for the last two weeks.

"I don't know. Awhile," I replied evasively.

"He hasn't been sick for more than last night has he? I thought that you've only been up since two." I closed my eyes even underneath my hand, I wished she wasn't so observant. "What have you been losing sleep over?"

"I don't know," I replied lamely, searching for an easy out. "Work I guess."

"You've never been stressed out over work before. Has something changed?" she persisted, finally sitting on the couch relatively beside me.

"I just can't seem to get a call back," I said. It was more or less a fact, but still far from the truth; the truth that I've been kept up all night for two weeks because of Harry.

"I thought you said you have an interview next Thursday," she persisted. Why do I always get connected with the people that notice everything?

"I just haven't been able to sleep," I amended, hoping that she'd drop the subject.

"Why didn't you tell me? And for just how long has Harry been the same way?" When I didn't answer she asked me again. "How long has Harry been the same way?"

_'Wait a minute,'_ I thought, '_she just called him Harry!_' Is she trying to call my bluff? Does she know that Harry's real name isn't Anton? '_Quickly, Remus!__ Cover this up!!'_

"Who's Harry?" I asked as curiously as I could muster, taking my hand down from my face for effect. Inside I could feel the adrenaline surging through my system. _'Please don't let her know that I lied.'_

"Well, isn't that what you just called him? Why would you call him 'Harry,' and he respond to it nonetheless, if it wasn't his name?" she said pointedly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied wondering if any of it was coming out convincingly or not. Of course I'm hoping for the former.

I must have sounded pretty sincere though, the small gain of momentum she had in surprise was doubtfully faltering. "Remus, I have a six year old. My hearing is perfectly fine, if not better than. Don't lie to me and tell me that you didn't just call your nephew 'Harry.'" Never mind, her tone clearly states that she is not going to back down.

"Kate, I didn't call him Harry. If I did it was just some weird mind slip but his name is Anton and has been for quite awhile," I tried to pass off with a gentle laugh so she doesn't think I'm being condescending. "I'm sorry that you think I did call him something different, but I didn't." In a desperate attempt to shift the conversation I said, "Let me get you some tea. Are you hungry?"

She looked at me appraisingly, sizing me up. I found myself praying that we'd been separated long enough for her to not catch the little signs that mean I'm lying like she used to. It seemed she studied me for ages before her gaze slowly relented and she said,

"Stay here, I'll get it," and she rose from her place on the couch.

"No, Kate, I'll-"

"Remus, just… just stay where you are," she said with what sounded like suppressed frustration. "You still keep everything in the same place as before?" she asked.

I nodded tiredly. I never wanted her to be angry. As she crossed the room towards the foyer and kitchen beyond I called her back. "Kate, wait," I said, questioning myself all the while. I could hear her stop where she stood, but she didn't turn and come back to me; she just stopped. I didn't turn to look at her but already I'd changed my mind. I just couldn't tell her. Instead, I said the only thing that came to my mind, honestly and sincerely.

"I'm sorry," I said but if there was a response I never received it. All I heard was the sounds of her footsteps continuing away from me and I sighed in defeat.

"Remus," a new voice breaks into my thoughts. "Remus," Professor Dumbledore calls. I shake my head realizing that I've been following my runaway thoughts instead of listening to him. I'm still in my wolf form, standing in front of the living room fire where two weeks ago Kate had already began to unravel the truth. Harry is still laid up in St. Mungo's dreaming of only God knows what while members of the Order scatter from their new meeting place, heading back to homes and families that they can hold onto for dear life, to discuss the truth with freely, to be brave with.

I miss my family.

"Do they know?" Dumbledore repeats from the green flames surrounding his wizened head.

Not sure whether to be neutral or ashamed of myself, I trot over to a small end table and pick up another photograph, this one Muggle, in my teeth to drop before the flames. It is a photograph of myself and Kate laughing in the park ten years ago; it had been taken by her husband the day that he asked her to marry him.

Dumbledore studies the picture closely and I know that he's noting how happy we both look, her perched on a park swing with me standing behind her, an arm reached from behind holding her fast across her chest as the autumn leaves fall. She was wearing blue that day, a periwinkle blue shirt with her jeans and the black coat that she cherished from her then boyfriend. They had picked it out together long ago. The scarf around her neck was all the colors of the rainbow and she loved it more than anything else in this world it seemed. It was one of the last gifts she had ever received from her mother before she passed away. The wind had been blowing at Kate's hair relentlessly that day and I remember her complaining to Quyllyan not to take her picture.

"I look a complete wreck!" she had exclaimed with a laugh as he took another photograph but we both knew that she looked beautiful. "I'm going to burn that camera if you try to take one more Quyllyan Nadezhda! I swear I will!" but he never paid her any mind. Instead, he glanced at me with a very Sirius-like expression and I knew what he was thinking; I had been thinking it too. That's when I had grabbed her from behind and she gave a squeal of laughter.

"Let me go!" she had cried. "Remus Lupin, let me go this instant!" and with a flash of light she knew that she had been captured on Quyllyan's film once more.

"You look like a shining star," he had said affectionately in his humor. "You're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen!"

"No I don't, you liar!" she had joked as she broke out of my grasp and he only laughed heartily as she began to chase him around the park with me tailing the chase. It had quickly turned into a marvelous and long game of keep-away before we all dropped in an exhausted heap into the piles of red leaves that coated the ground.

"I… am going… to get… both of you… for this," she had panted, clutching at the stitch in her side as we all lay there and both of us laughed through our own shortness breath knowing that she would never succeed.

He had given me our stolen picture of her the very next week and I had cherished it ever since.

To anybody other than the three of us, it looks as if Kate and I were a couple when we never were. I was surprised that Quyllyan didn't resent me like I was sure he would; he was hesitant around me at first but he soon got over that and we grew to be very good friends as well.

But I shake my head at my wandering thoughts. _'There are other things to do now, you can think more on that later. Pay attention.'_

"Is this your friend? From when you were a child?" Dumbledore asks and I nod my wolf head. "And I take it this means she knows of Harry's true background?" and again I nod my head.

"Is she trustworthy?" he asks pointedly and I stare back at him with just as much pointedness. _'Do you really think I would endanger Harry by telling somebody his true identity if I didn't trust them?'_

"Of course, I am sorry. I did not mean to insult you." He suddenly turns his head in the fireplace as if looking at somebody on his side of the fire and says, "Of course, I will be there momentarily," before he turns back to me. "I will have to leave for now. I would like to speak with you again in the morning if you don't mind," and peevishly I shake my head. "I would like to know everything that Severus said to you before he left this evening; perhaps then I will be able to speak with him."

'_Yeah, perhaps_,' I think and turn tail to go back up to the attic for a look at the moon's position in the sky. I don't even bother with some form of closing salutation. I wish this would all just go away.

-

Three days into my illness finds my mind a deteriorating wreck. No longer can I easily differentiate between the Death Eaters as their voices swarm in and out of focus while they change shifts or just come in to shoot the breeze. Their words are just as muffled and confusing as if they were in another language and I find it hard to concentrate through the migraine-like headache I have suffered under for three whole days and the puff of putrid air that permeates from the fresh puddle of empty vomit that lies before, and revoltingly, underneath me.

I don't know how much longer I can last like this. I keep praying for help, telling myself that someone will come for me but my thoughts are morbid for the most part and the majority of my mind chides me, telling me that my hopes are set too high and that if they haven't come by now, nobody ever will. I know I'm going to die here.

I am starting to worry about my safety now more than ever. That's not to say that I never did worry, but the truth of the matter is that I don't remember yesterday. At all. I have only a muffled auditory memory of Professor Snape scolding me for being ill but that's not to say I didn't notice the worry masked behind his hateful words. I only know of the lapse in my memory by the words of the Death Eaters and that far from comforts me. Anything could have happened in the last thirty-six hours and I shudder to think of the possibilities. At the same time, I can't help but wonder why suddenly my coherent thoughts are bubbling back to the surface of my mind. That's only happened lately when…. When….

The smell… God, I can't take it anymore_. Please just let this pass. Take me away from this horror of life. Please release me._

I strain to lift my heavy head from the floor to look out the open window. The sky is a deep gray-blue but not dark enough to be the blackest of night. It is just dark enough to demand the lights inside be lit and although the sun still walks on the edge of the ocean the stars are beginning to shine. The sight fills me with sadness but I refuse to look away. As much as I want release, I know that this may be one of the last sunsets I ever get to see and as the sun drops off the face of this flat world we call earth, my head falls back to the floor of my hell, only to hear the whisperings of new tortures _(and insects?)_ before my mind is lost once again.

* * *

_A/N:_ Yeah, so this one is a bit of a shortie, but you guys really wanted more and not much was coming to me so I thought, 'Hey, why pressure myself and make you guys suffer?' It's win/win for everybody. Now, onto the questions!

_MyBackToTheShadows__:_ You're welcome! And thank you so much for the beautiful review, it really makes me feel good! Reality? What, what's that? Lol… as for Cara, she's coming, Snape in MORE danger? I don't know… the climax of Harry's capture may take awhile, but we'll get to it and yes! I do actually have a plan to bring it all together in the end! :D Thanks again for the awesome review!

_Dianne_: I loved getting reviews from you!! It made me realize how horrible I am at not reviewing when I come in mid-story! :D How did you pick reading this from my penname? Are you a Ring-er too?... As a matter of fact, the elder Weasley's may come back for more…we'll have to see. You are one of the first people to notice (or at least mention) the fact that Harry could hear the real world in his dreams! Thanks for picking that up! As for love for Snape? Mmm…. I just thought it would be a pleasant twist for him. And yes, I do get time to read all of the reviews! They come in around a dozen or so at a time so it's nice (although that's not to say I wouldn't like more… lol) And me? Write something for REALLY real? Heehee, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don't quite think I'm ready for that! And if you want a really good Remus story, I would check out "Seeing Grey" by iggie; it's like 93 chapters of Remus-y goodness and it's very different from anything I've ever read! You might like it! Thanks again for all of the kick-booty reviews! I hope you liked this one!

_Jump-ball-girl (__Erin__)_: No worries! Not taken as a flame in any way shape or form! :D It actually made me laugh to hear that I was writing Harry kinda girlie and I haven't seen many guys cry either…. I actually always cry when I'm stressed and lack sleep so I thought, 'Hey, maybe Harry does too.' And was this update soon enough? I hope so!

_Imihel_: Yay! You thought the bug part was disturbing! That's what I was going for! Thanks for thinking my Snape-in-love scene was cute! I was wondering what other people would think of that! How is your book coming? And I did read your new chapter… I just haven't had time to review yet! I'm sorry but it was Rockin'!

_Aka-kitsune-chan_: Thanks for thinking I'm a good writer! That is a really wonderful compliment! And I'm glad that you think it's haunting… blushes I hope this chapter fills your need for more story! Glad to have you!

_ParanoiaIn2005:_ Do you KNOW how much I love to get reviews from you? They make me excited before I even get past your name! Anywhoo! That's so exciting that the bugs made you feel all crawly too! Thanks! As for Alternatively Spliced… I've always heard "spliced" used in a genetic fashion… as if someone screwed with your genes and gave you half purple hair or something. So I just meant it to mean a really nasty bug!

Hurray!! I was wondering if my Remus/Snape are sorta friends scene would work! Thanks! I like playing with Kate and Cara details and making Snape a little puppy… that was awesome. Leggo is supposed to be a nickname… just haven't gotten to the "explaining" scene for that one yet. Anton… blushes I actually pulled that one off of like or something and I have a love for names that sound 1930's-ish (I think they sound hot) so I new I had to use it! And it's an "explain-er." No sweat on the nit-pickies! It seems that we're pretty much on the same brainwave which is awesome because I can make sure that I'm covering everything, so thanks a million!! And "more talented than any human has any right to be?" Blushes profusely somehow I doubt that one, but thanks for the enormous compliment! It makes me feel awesome!! How's the story coming?

_Saphadeke_: Hey! That's so cool that you heard about this someplace else, but where at FictionAlly Park did you find it? (I was curious and went searching but came back with no results!) It really means a LOT to me that you think my story is so original! Thank you SO much for dropping in for a read and I hope you continue to enjoy it! And how are your teeth doing? Or lack of teeth, for that matter? I'm feeling great again, I hope the same holds true for you!

_Teah__ Leafs:_ haha, thank you so much!! And whoo hoo! You love Kevin! I was really wondering what people thought of him! Bummer and thanks!; I really thought the D.E.'s wore white masks… where does it say black? (I tried doing a quick search but just found "masks"… too bad books don't come with a 'find word' feature!) And what is up with you guys? You're all totally psychic or something! Honestly, people are going to start thinking that I'm just taking ideas but I've had a scene like you described in my head for a couple months now and you guys keep beating me to the punch! lol! I guess I'm just going to have to start writing faster or something… honestly! :D

_NyxCrawler_: I'm sorry you checked so often only to be disappointed by my stupidness! I hope this makes you feel better and entertained!

_Moonchild619_: The Harry/Anton explanation is coming, but like everything else in this fic it seems, it will be in a little while! Haha, was this soon enough?

_Everyone_: Thank you so much again for dropping in for a read and for leaving such wonderful reviews! You guys have really made me feel special and loved and talented, especially when I've been questioning how this story is going. So thank you so much more than you can ever know and I sincerely hope that you liked this chapter! I hope you all have been enjoying your final weeks of freedom before school starts up again and I hope that everybody's school year is one of happiness, a relaxed nature, and just plain fun!

Ever yours,

TiniTinuviel :D


	14. Until the Day I Die

December 11, 2004

Disclaimer: "To oppress is to deny the ability to make metaphors." - Augusto Boal.

Author's Note: ZOINKS! Four months?! I am stupendously sorry. What can I say? School is murder (and you can quote me on that). I'm afraid next semester will be about the same guys, so my apologies in advance. (If you are ever wondering what is taking me so long, check my bio… I leave a little update on there when I can.) But trying to find a good song title delayed this about two hours too! -sigh- My characters just couldn't cooperate for a common tune in this one. In any case:

Congratulations are in order for ParanoiaIn2005, Imihel, and Teah Leafs who have snagged Chapter 13's song title, "White Flag," which is by lovely brit Dido! And a special hurrah for Teah Leafs passing her reward onto her friend Leslie! All of you should look for yourselves in future chapters!

Tremendous thanks go out to starangel2106, Moonchild619, wolfawaken, jump-ball-girl, chips challenge, Teah Leafs, Leslie, Dianne, Melindaleo, ParanoiaIn2005, TokyoTeen13, Stupid Man Suit, truthxinxshadow, Pleione, dark fairy fan, Potions and Snitches, Padawan Jan-AQ, Imihel and of course all of you other awesome readers out there for clickin' over for a read! You all don't know how much I love you!

That said and with no more ado, I give you Chapter 14 of "I Know I'm Not Sleeping:"

-

With a majority of the night whittled away, I lie in my hospital bed drowning in sweat, desperately trying to grasp at the surface of the lake I have fallen under. My thoughts run swiftly through my mind, the synapses knowing somehow that this moment of present tense won't last for very long. The night has passed slowly, or so it seems. The illness during my incarcerated time has left me in such a bad state. No, any and all memories of it have my body reliving every painful moment, every bit of lightheadedness that ever grabbed hold of me while my consciousness crawls back into the smallest, most protective shell I have in order to escape some of the tortures of old and their present counterparts. I lie shivering in this shell, the part of me that can only pray that all will be over with soon, the part of me that just lets my autonomous nervous system do what it must until I can be my whole self again.

I've heard voices around me, some calm, some panicked, some curious, some worried. The cacophony is splintering my ear drums. This place… these voices… they echo strangely in my world, causing corporeal sound waves that push me further and further back into dreams that I might have otherwise escaped. They push me further into nightmares that I never thought I would see again.

I pray, just this once, for a memory with a happy ending, for one that won't leave my skin crawling and my hands shaking. For one dream that I can think back on fondly; for one that won't hurt when it comes back to assault me in its full, unsuspecting force.

-

I want to be with Harry. I know that he is suffering; God, everybody knows that he is suffering. How could we allow this to happen? We should have kept a closer watch, or kept him on a shorter leash, anything. But no, even that wouldn't have saved him from his fate.

_How did he get inside?_

With a heavy heart I lay my head back down on the musty old floor of the attic, the floor splotted with paw prints and dragged cleaned areas where my shaggy fur pulled all of the dirt and grime from their happily laid nests. I can't bear to even think of him anymore. I know that I have done this to him. Maybe not directly, but indirectly I led him into this undeserved punishment and now I'm not even there to suffer through it with him. It's the least I can do and I'm not even there. I am so disgusted with myself that I pick up my dragging paws and drop them over my eyes; I feel so ashamed. How much longer do I have to wait before I can join him and, not even the score, that will never be accomplished, but before I can show him that what's been done to him will not be suffered alone? How long until my pain and guilt can be manifested in his own and we can pray for release, separately together?

How long until my pain will pass and I can face James and Lily's graves without tears in my eyes that I have marred their son? How long until I can say that no harm will come to him while under my care?

-

By the time five a.m. rolls around I open my eyes to discover that I actually have fallen asleep, if only for an hour or two. That worn-down clock still reads 6:30 but the moon is nearly set and I shake off my grandmother's old quilt, excited that I will finally be able to go and visit Harry; these last ten hours have been some of the worst hours I've had in the last two months.

With my sense of hearing sharpened under the wolf's influence, I can clearly hear the lock of the front door sliding open with a click and the front door swinging in smoothly followed by the soft steps of Molly Weasley's house shoes. She said she would be over this morning to help me to the hospital; I wasn't expecting her until after the final transformation. Her steps are followed by a confident stride, one that I know I've heard before, but can't place as of yet. Another set follow the previous two only these steps are cautious, slow and purposeful so as not to startle. I can think of a few people they might belong to, but I make no solid determinations as of yet.

When the door clicks shut and the scuffling stops, I hear Molly whisper, "Now you boys just go and make yourselves comfortable, I suppose. He said to make yourselves feel at home."

"Mum, we know," the careful-stepping voice says. "But it's not like we're going to just sit around in the living room without you."

"He's right, Mum," the other voice kicked in. "Charlie and I aren't just going to leave you alone. I mean," and here his volume considerably lowered, "what if he's down here somewhere?" I couldn't help it, but my heart sank at confident Bill Weasley's words. He was right. If I was down there, potion or not, it would still be a struggle to keep from biting anybody. A minimal struggle, but a struggle just the same.

Plucking myself off of the ground, I pad down the attic steps to the door, nudging it completely closed and twisting the dead bolt in place with my muzzle and teeth. Also using that uncanny ability of muzzle/tongue coordination, I lift the door chain and slide it into place before turning back and quickly trotting up the few steps to the complete attic level and lying down on the floor once more.

They must have heard my small scraping noises because suddenly all sound stopped from downstairs, as if an awed hush had fallen over an audience.

-

As time dozes on, I look up one last time as the moon drops over halfway below the horizon line, dipping into clouds that choke off the moon's rays in all but an exactly vertical direction and I feel the transformation begin once more.

This time it starts with my head and neck. There is an agonizing pain that feels like muscle being pulled directly from my bones and out of my body that signifies the shortening of my facial structure and my neck. The pain is nigh unbearable and I roll over onto my back to try and rub and worm the pain away from my flesh in any way I can think how. I let something between an angry cry and whimper of pain out as I thrash and writhe on the floor of my home, no longer hearing any sort of sound through the cracks to the floors below. Just as suddenly, an intense pain fills my chest, my lungs and heart are shrinking to normal man size, the unnecessary flesh and muscle tearing and ripping itself to shreds until the pieces are so small they have eaten themselves away. As excess muscle and cartilage rips away from my rib cage, I can't help but howl in absolute agony, rolling back onto my stomach to let the pressure of my body weight try to cut off the pain from my continuous and horribly changing body.

I can feel my vertebrae realigning and again I switch to my back, futilely trying to stop the contortions, despite how much I hate the evening phases of my lycanthropy. Again I wish for the primitive mind of the wolf to filter the pain into a more bearable undertaking but with the Wolfsbane potion my mind remains and the pain crashes over me as painful as the first time I experienced it.

Finally my arms and legs begin their transformation; I am nearing the final stages of change and as I attempt to crawl pathetically back to the comfort of my grandmother's old quilt, my final reminder of the love my family still held for me despite my disease, I feel the ripping of flesh beneath the receding bristling fur of my limbs. I can feel the bones of my body shifting and grinding against each other, even breaking, splintering as they force themselves to shift joint direction and my now human vocal cords cry out as the bone cuts through my flesh before dissolving into nothingness. The wounds heal instantaneously even though the pain subsides in slow motion. The blood that was spilled spools back into my system, running even against gravity to my blood stream; it keeps me alive, nourished and in a place that begs for both life and death simultaneously.

And as the final stages are repressed by the last slivers of moonlight, my human lungs breathe in and out the air of freedom and renewed intensity to get to St. Mungo's and Harry's bedside.

With my muscles still screaming from the fatigue of extreme over-exertion, I reach a drooping hand to the chest where my clothes are locked away. The combination turns effortlessly under my fingers to release the latch and free the treasure I seek, and with wilting limbs but strengthening mind I pull them on before falling back to the attic floor, burying my face into the smells and comfort of home, of family. The familiar scent relaxes and rejuvenates me slightly as I build up the needed strength to return downstairs and make the rather long journey back to London.

It isn't long however before I am shocked into hearing the door to the attic click open through the fabric of my shirt that covers my ears and I lift my head wearily to peer at who has so prematurely traveled into my domain. There is no more hostility running through my mind anymore, there is no raging anger boiling beneath the surface; I only wish I had more time to compose myself before having to stand up to… to who?

"Mum, please let me go first," I hear whispered.

"Hush, Charlie," Molly whispers back, and I can't quite decide if I'm happy she's here or not.

"Please," he begs.

"Charlie, shut up," Bill whispers warningly and before their hushed conversation can go any further I raise my face from its place on the floor and call out, "It's okay. I'm finished. You don't need to worry."

With amusement I hear what can only be Bill hitting his brother in the arm, throwing him off balance and into the wall of the attic stairs with a hushed, "Ow!"

"Stop it, both of you," Molly whispers and slowly I see her head rise above the landing level and with cautious steps she approaches my place on the floor, an all-to-familiar glass of water held in her hand. How many times have I approached Harry this way? How many times has he felt helpless, embarrassed and yet relieved with the prospect of aid? I'll have to ask him sometime, perhaps in a few hours.

"Remus?" she calls from a still safe distance and I pick my head up to nod as she continues, forcing myself to sit up in her presence. It's odd that she's approaching me so, she's always feared me the days before and after the change. Reaching a normal balance I look up to see Bill and Charlie standing near the railings of the attic steps, not coming any closer. Bill nods in respect to me, a gesture that I sincerely return. I nod to Charlie as well and he, flushed with embarrassment, also returns the favor. His look of apprehension however has not been well masked and as Molly kneels down before me there is no missing the way his hand jolts in the direction of his wand, only barely stopping himself.

"It's alright, Charlie," I say to him, "I have been human for a good five or ten minutes now if not more. The change is complete, there is no more danger. I will not hurt you or your mother. I'm just tired."

He hears my words and I can see that he wants to believe, but the possibility of harm coming to someone so close to him keeps him hesitant; a trait that I have grown accustomed to over the years. It does not bother me, at least that's what I tell myself.

"I'll deal with him later," she says quietly to me but I shake my head at her offer. There really is no need. "I've brought this for you. Drink it up," she says.

"No, Molly, I'm fine. If you could just help me down to the first floor-"

"No," she says in return. "I'm afraid you aren't going anywhere until you've drank this."

"Molly, please, all I want to do is-"

"Yes, I know. And we're going with you, but first you're drinking every last drop of this glass. Merlin knows you could use it."

"Molly-"

"Drink."

"Fine," I mutter under my breath and take a few swallows of blessed liquid before handing the glass back to her.

"All of it," she repeats, forcing the glass back into my hands and as I take it, I suddenly see the glass separate into two and then slide back into one as my vision refocuses. Again it slides apart and then together. Looking up at Molly, there is suddenly two of her and then one. The fatigue is making it hard to hold my head up but I force the sleep away. Today is going to be hard if I'm already so tired that my vision is going.

"Help me downstairs and I will," I try to barter, but she only stares at me intently and shakes her head no.

Looking into the drifting and rejoining glass, I raise it to my lips with shaking fingers but find it increasingly difficult to hold the cup steady as I swallow it down. Molly gently helps to hold it firm and distantly I notice Bill and Charlie begin to approach. I look up at them while drinking to quickly find that my furry and slipping vision is no longer returning to the single stroke of a painter's hand and with slow realization I know what is going on. Unfortunately and angrily I know there is no hope for now the so-called water is nearly gone.

Dropping my hand quickly from its place and trying to move away I find Molly still holding the glass to my lips and suddenly Bill and Charlie are holding me up so that together they can force it into me. I try to spit it back out but the damage is already done. The sleeping potion laced in this glass of clear fluid is coursing in my system, the double vision that plagues me is quickly fading to black, and suddenly I know that I can not avoid sleeping.

-

I think it's safe to say that today has been one of the worst in my entire life, and that's saying quite a bit as don't remember much of it. With my illness finally waning, _only God knows how_, my senses have sharpened which is saying _nothing_ as they are still only vague, cloudy representations of the true sensations that surround me. I can distantly feel the solid, cold slats beneath me, the shouts and carousings of the Death Eaters seem underwater yet are pounding against my skull from the inside, my senses of taste and smell are vaguely beginning to pick up the fibers of air that contain something other than my own retchings. My head still feels oddly over-weighted and light at the same time. My vertebrae feel stressed enough to break and my whole body can do nothing more than lie in a broken heap against the wall while my eyes travel listlessly over the shadows above me.

Through a haze, I'm afraid to turn around. To look over my shoulder and find them watching me, to see the mix of hatred and sport glower under the steady and neutral white masks they wear. I don't want them to see that I'm awake because that will only give them more reason to torment me. If that happens, it won't be with them that I'll stay, but with Voldemort and somehow I know that with anymore than two encounters I will die and all the miniscule hope that I retain will have been in vain.

My breath hitches as I try a steadying inhale and pain shoots through my side and chest, much stronger and sharper than any bludger attack. I try to stay calm, hoping they didn't notice, but, though thick, it's not hard to determine that their voices have quieted through my splintered eardrums. Thinking my only way out is to shift as if in sleep, I force myself to move while burying my face in the floorboards; I know there is no way I can hide the pain that shows so clearly there.

"What's that noise?" someone asks from the fireplace.

"Has he woken up again?" a woman questions.

"He's not going to be sick again, is he?" yet another voice calls out.

Uneasily I try to finish my shift while looking as unconscious as possible, if that even is possible, and when I've finally stopped I can't help but give a ragged sigh that I've completed the action.

Heavy, wet boots approach me on the floor, rattling the ground and sending what feels like needle-sharp grains of sand blasting through my body from wherever I make contact with the floor. In a final, desperate attempt, I close my eyes and bury my pain thinking only of how wonderful it would be to see Ron and Hermione again; especially Hermione. I can feel my facial muscles shift with the thought of her and I relax as if she were sitting right in front of me. The Death Eater has finished his approach and leans forward to see my face that rests so close to the wall; I can feel it. I can feel the way his weight has shifted to his toes and the wall creaks backward ever so slightly as he rests his hand against it. The air in the room shifts with his motions and I can't help but plead in my mind, '_Think about Hermione, think about Hermione, think about Hermione_.' I try to remember her as I saw her most: calm, face plain or smiling, a stack of books in her hands and with a feather quill behind her ear; I have always imagined she'd look very beautiful with a quill behind her ear.

The Death Eater begins to back away and I release my breath still hoping he's noticed nothing but clearly I've underestimated his distance. My second sigh earns an awful stamp on the ground from his heavy feet and the tsunami-like reverberations pierce through my bones and I cry out in pain, being able to only hold back a very small amount of agony.

"Seems like he's awake after all!" the man says loudly with malicious glee, but before he can approach again the door is pushed loudly open and another group of Death Eaters walk in. All my optimism has shattered now; the frail, broken glass that it was can not hope to be repaired for the small granules that it has fallen to, but then I hear a voice I do not expect and a phrase I never thought I'd like to hear:  
"What are you all doing in here? There is a meeting tonight and the Dark Lord will be arriving soon. Or have you forgotten? Tonight is the night that Potter's fate is decided for the last time. If you are not there, you will miss any chance of speaking that will otherwise not be heard."

"Now? I thought it was beginning at half eight?" the woman says.

"My dear, sweet, Angeliecia, how quickly you will fall," the new man drawls. Addressing the crowd once again he says, "He will not wait for very long. It is better to be early than to be on time, for punishment arrives as he does."

The pressured footfalls of eight filing Death Eaters quickly rise but fades painfully slowly as they heed Professor Snape's words. Before they are gone, however, one stops and says, "And what of you Snape? Have you nothing to say for the fate of this flobberworm? Or have you had your piece already because it is your turn for duty?"

"I have no need for comment, Shadows. My only concern is that he dies, and dies horribly." It is chilling to hear those words from his mouth; there is no speck of change in his inflection, no signal that he doesn't mean what he says, and again I realize how much I don't… _or is it can't?_ trust him. "Goodnight," Snape says with false care, "and may your meeting be as pleasant as they come." The final footsteps of the remaining Death Eater fade beyond the door and Snape pushes it to a close as I proceed to uncomfortably ignore him, happy the noise is gone even though my head aches with its continuous looping.

"Awake again, Potter?" he asks in a scathing, yet coded tone.

I merely hum a reply, even that is aching my frame.

"I imagine you are feeling quite clouded right now, am I correct?" he questions as if we were in his class.

Again, a hum is his only reply.

"It would do you well to answer me, Potter, because although I dislike you, my respect for your resilience is growing and I still have the power to help you. Now, are you feeling clouded?"

Vaguely I nod while sniffing back the tear of agony that threatens to fall at the motion.

"But you are still in pain?" he asks cajolingly, now beginning his own circling approach to my prone form.

Again, I nod and stifle the reaction to verbally 'out' my suffering.

"Then you'd better take this," he says surprisingly softly and close to my ear before pressing what feels like a soft candy into my mouth. "With any luck you'll be out of the woods soon, boy. If you are not already growing stronger, this should help you and with any _more_ luck you'll have no recollection of this moment at any time in your future, for both our sakes," he says with irritation, and somehow I know that he's not concerned about his job as a spy, but as his job as my personal tormentor; well, Professor tormentor anyhow.

Not surprisingly, the taste of food brings my stomach-ache back completely but the strength it takes to fight it has considerably lessened and through a faltering consciousness, I can feel the superior air about my Potions professor sliding into one of a guardian's concern before I swallow the sweet substance and fall into slumber.

-

At that time he didn't realize how his, or our luck had grown and how only his was slightly faltering on this rainy, bedridden night. My prayers for a good dream it seems have finally been heard and not only that, but I now have a good story to tell Ron and Hermione as soon as I am allowed to see them once more.

-

So there you have it! Hope it was worth the wait, I'm sure a lot of you have been prepared to throttle me for sometime now!

_Reviews_:

_Dianne_: Oddly enough, I have started planning a sequel, kind of. Mostly right now it's just a lump of scenes that absolutely will not fit in "Sleeping" but would be wonderful to see after the fact. Simply put: random scenes, no plot. We'll see how that goes! :D

_Melindaleo_: Zoinks! A recommendation to another writer! That is really flattering! I'm glad you like it and I hope you continue to! You're guesses (on reviews of chapters 8 & 11) are pretty close… but most of those details won't be cleared up until the end.

_Pararnoia_: You know how much I love your reviews, but I have to say it again: I LOVE YOUR REVIEWS!! Lol! :D Just a side comment since we've chatted in-between… have you ever seen the movie "Gattaca?" because that's where I got the name Anton from… I love that movie!

_TokyoTeen13_: I love manga style! I actually have a copy of a HP drawing from a friend on foreign exchange in Japan!

_Stupid Man Suit_: I love your name! (I almost bought 'Donnie Darko' like 2 hours ago!) You'll find out more about Cara… eventually… mwahahaha!

_Potions and Snitches_: Hey! Thanks for the spot on your website! That is sooo cool! And I see I have four frogs! I'm glad you like it! If YOU have any questions, feel free to drop me a line!

_Padawan__ Jan-AQ_: yeah, about Kevin's jokes… let's just say there is a reason why I write angst and not comedy! lol! I love that YOU love the Mother Blanket! It's coming back in style in a chapter not too far away; glad to have you, hope you like this chapter!

And for everyone! Once again, thank you SOOO much for dropping in and for leaving a review if you are so inclined, you know I love to see what you think! I hope you have enjoyed this week's edition of 'I Know I'm Not Sleeping' and that you don't give up on me with my loooooooong writing gaps. (Blame the professors, it is not my fault!) lol!

Hope you're all rockin' the holiday season! I can't wait to get "HP and the PoA" for Christmas! (I had to rent it because I just couldn't wait any longer!)

Cheers!

Tini :D


	15. I Hate Myself for Losing You

March 12, 2005

Disclaimer: SSDD. (That's Same Sh-t, Different Day, to you. Ever see "Dreamcatcher?")

Author's Note: Do I even need to say it? You're right, I do. Sweet Jesus, I should have posted this ages ago. I've had it on 'ye old lap-top' for about a month but was going to keep it with the contents of, what is now, the next chapter, which apparently never wants to make its internet debut. -sigh- This keeps happening and it's starting to irk me; all thanks (or un-thanks) to go my transitioning skills which are severely lacking for some unfathomable reason.

Anywhoo, for some good news!

Chapter snaggers: The song title "Until the Day I Die" has been brought to us by the kick -ss band "Story of the Year!" Congratulations to _truthxinxshadow_ for being the only one to pick it up!

Be on the lookout for _P.K._ in this chapter (also known as _Wiccan__ PussyKat_)! She's been waiting since "The Motivation Proclamation" which was up seven chapters ago to make her story debut and here she is! Hurray! Also be on the lookout for _Polly_ (aka _Teah__ Leafs_) and _Leslie_ who scored "White Flag" and "Hero." I want to thank you all again for playing my demented game and being AWESOME at it!

Now with no more ado, I give you chapter 15 of "I Know I'm Not Sleeping!"

* * *

The feeling of warmth, actual physical and emotional warmth, resides deep in my body, and it hitches a ride on my slow moving blood stream so it can course lazily through my system. It feels wonderful to feel so calm, so relaxed, to have slept so soundly when for such a long time I haven't… Last week I remember fearing that I would forget the feeling of waking up so slowly that the body feels like a statue with enchanted, moveable eyes. That your mind wakes up so slowly to the world you feel as if everything is in slow motion. The time when there is nothing to do but feel the warmth of your blankets, your cheek pressed deeply into your pillow, and the way your breath moves rhythmically in and out. I've always found that sleeping in on week days are the most rewarding days to do so, the prospect of not having to go to work encourages feelings of joy in everybody I know.

But… joy? That emotion doesn't seem to fit right now. No, there is something seriously wrong with that… suddenly a strong and unsettling feeling drops into my stomach like a bludger off the astronomy tower and I bolt up in bed only to realize that, _bed? I shouldn't be in bed! I should be in the attic! I should be with **Harry!**_My breath catches painfully in my chest as I am stung by this bout of realization and I whip my head to the clock as a feeling of utter and complete dread overcomes me: the time is 10:04 a.m.

Fanatically, I remember the events of last night: the final transformation, the sleeping potion that looked like water, Molly Weasley and her two sons forcing me to drink it and thus keeping me away from St. Mungo's and Harry… How could they do this? How could they _do_ _this?_ They've known all along how Harry and I work together to help him overcome these nightmares but still they keep me away from him when he needs me the most? Forcing myself out of my shock, I leap out of my soft mattress and still warm blankets, grabbing my jacket off my desk chair while stepping into my shoes that are thankfully still laced. Without another thought I throw open my bedroom door and race down the hall. My feet pound deafeningly down the stairs as I skip steps and jump the last three entirely, _surely I've woken half the neighborhood_, and I snatch my keys off the foyer table and unlock the dead bolt with the greatest speed.

"Remus?" a woman, Molly, calls from the kitchen. With the memories of last night still burned into my mind, I refuse to give her any spoken answer, instead I slam the door as hard as I can and race to the car. Sitting down and preparing to leave, it is only now that I realize how much pain I am in; all of my extremities are burning with fire, my back stiff and protesting the range of movement I have forced it through, my head and chest ache so horribly that I have to swallow back the pain. My hands are trembling violently as I turn the key in the ignition and my foot practically seizes near the peddle but I just can't wait any longer. Who knows what kind of state Harry is in? My head is screaming at me to wait just a moment, to let Molly drive so I don't kill myself on the way over, but the mere thought of her makes me boil over with rage. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive her for this.

As I pull out of the drive I see her rush out the front door, Bill and Charlie in her wake and she waves frantically at me from the porch and then the yard as she runs to chase me but I'm surprised that I've given her the slight attention that I have from the corner of my eye. I can hear her calling my name but my anger is set, there is no way I'm going back. I speed down the street to the corner, only looking in the rear-view mirror once to see Bill and Charlie hug their mother and walk her back into my house, and to see Kate standing on the sidewalk, watching me go after all of the commotion.

I wish she could be with me now.

Even though the stoplights and traffic signs fly past, it doesn't seem like I can get to The Troll's Bridge fast enough. Through my wandering and frantic thoughts, I thankfully find that I am only blocks away from the shop and as I come closer I breathe a sigh a relief that the shop is fairly empty, the car park lies less than half full. I pull to a stop and move to get out when I realize that my knees feel completely unable to support me and as I step out I latch onto the door so I don't collapse. Even my fingers are trembling as they hold tight and, unbidden, I recall with such clarity the night I found Harry ill in his doorway. _How did he stand that night? How did he force himself to continue on?_ I don't feel sick at all but my limbs are just as weak as his were. Then, he was driven by fear and desperation, while I am driven by fear and adrenaline.

With renewed resolve I push myself forward and stumble toward the entrance, willing myself to forget the aches in my body and press on. By the time I reach the door I can feel my legs wilting but at least now there are rows upon rows of bookshelves to hold onto as I walk to the front counter.

"Remus?" a voice calls in recognition from a row away, the tone however quickly, and regrettably, turns to concern. "Remus, are you alright? You look fit to collapse!"

"Yes," I say through a hissing breath, "yes, Leslie, I'm fine. It's a bit cold out today, though, what with the rain last night. Do you have a fire I might sit by for a while?"

Without a flicker of confusion, she nods fervently and takes my arm supportively, walking with me toward the back of the store.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'll be right back," she calls over her shoulder and when I look back I see a very stately gentleman gaze at us with the utmost perplexity; _he must be a Muggle_, I think blandly, _any wizard would have recognized the code_, not that there really is one, I'm sure Leslie and Polly have heard every excuse in the book to be taken to their fireplace in order that others may use the Floo.

"Polly!" Leslie calls with fake cheerfulness. "Polly! Remus has come for a visit! Won't you get the tea ready?"

"Really, Leslie, that's not necessary," I say quietly. "I really must be going-" but before I can finish I am cut off by a tall woman, her long hair pulled back and eyes searching me as she approaches and they both try to place me in a seat.

"Remus Lupin," Polly says slightly scoldingly. "What have you been doing all night? Running with the wolves?"

"Not quite," I say through my teeth as I fight them off from setting me down. "It's my nephew, Anton, I need to get to St. Mungo's…"

"What's happened to him?" Polly demands.

"Is everything alright?" Leslie asks hurriedly.

"Yes, it's not like that. He's already there but he's sick and I need to be with him."_ I don't have time for these questions!_

"Of course," Polly says. "Leslie, why don't you go ahead and help Mr. Brownley, I'll take care of things here," and with a swift, understanding nod, she turns back toward the front of the store.

"Thank you," I call to her while Polly stays resolutely beside me.

"Remus, why don't you have a seat and I'll go get you some tea," she says pointedly. I nod my head but refuse to sit down, I don't think I'll be able to stand up again if I do. Lifting the lid on an artistic pot on the mantle, she pulls out a handful of ash saying, "I've always found throwing some of this into the fire makes it warmer and gives everything a nice glow," before throwing it in and turning the flames a brilliant emerald color. "Now you just relax until the tea is ready; it shouldn't be more than a moment."

I nod as I lean heavily against the mantle, staring into the green flames that are beginning to entice a twinge of ill feelings, hoping that Leslie can steer that Mr. Brownley away from the sight of the fire so I can go. Feeling impatient I deftly whisper "St. Mungo's" into the flames and they roar up just a bit more while my heart races in agitation, my breath coming in shorter and shorter catches until seconds later Polly and I both clearly hear Leslie drag him around another shelf as she exclaims how wonderful another book is, and if only he could take it off the top shelf for her she could show it to him.

"Good luck, Remus," she whispers, giving me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before I step through the flames to find the ward of St. Mungo's spread rapidly out before my disoriented feet.

Trying not to think of the aches in my legs, I stride forward from the flames, knowing well that anybody could be trying to arrive in the same hearth while I'm still in it, which would efficiently knock me down.

The waiting room is fairly empty but considering it is Tuesday morning I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. As I cross from one end to the other I suddenly find a teenage girl swiftly approach me and walk in my pace. With a stolen glance I realize that she is the same girl that led us to Harry's room yesterday morning; I never caught her name.

"Mr. Lupin?" she asks just as suddenly as she arrived.

"Yes," I reply absentmindedly, trailing my fingers on the nearest wall should I suddenly feel the need for the support. "I'm sorry," I continue, "I don't recall your name,"

'_Not that I'm actually concerned about that right now_…' I think.

"That's alright, nobody ever does," she replies lightheartedly. "I'm Pavan Katima, friends call me P.K. Healer Rainer asked me to keep an eye out for you; they've been waiting for your arrival."

Somehow that short phrase brings more fear into my chest than I could have imagined. My ribs feel like they are desperately contracting and thus squishing all of the muscles in-between like a small bug under-foot. All breath has escaped me and it takes one desperate calming battle to appear as unphased by her comment as possible.

"Is there something happening that I should know about?" I ask as if I don't have a clue as to the nature of the evening.

"I'm not sure," she replies just as speedily, "she didn't give me any details, just said to keep an eye out and to lead you upstairs. Here's the stairwell," she said, pulling open a door and together we stride through. "You don't look well," she comments after a moment as we pass the landing for the first floor.

"I'm fine," I say tightly and try not to think about how many more staircases there are to climb. _Why didn't I think to take the lift? _In an effort to forget how miserable I feel I call over my shoulder, "You have a very… interesting name. Does it mean something?"

I can hear her chuckle a bit as she climbs after me. Apparently she's been asked this before. "Pavan is Hindu," she begins. "It means 'breeze,' and Katima means 'powerful daughter.'"

"Those are very nice, thoughtful names," I say with an effort.

"Yeah, well, sometimes I would rather have an average name like my brother Kevin, nobody ever picked on him at school for his name," she sighs but then chuckles again. "It can be rather fun having a weird name though."

I nod to myself; indeed it can be interesting having a different name. _Remus Lupin_.

_'You certainly were named appropriately,'_ Sirius' voice says in my ear from the past. _'Did your mum change your name or was she a seer?'_ At the time he had scared the wits out of me. Nobody up to that point knew the secret of my monthly disappearances so to hear that whisper one night in the library nearly threw me into shock.

_'What are you talking about?'_ I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage.

_'Well, no offense, but if she's a seer, then why did she let it happen?'_

_'My mum is dead, Sirius,'_ I had told him regretfully, _'and no, she wasn't a seer,'_ I relented, essentially telling him what I'd wanted to tell all of the Marauders for the last year._ 'She just… felt that Remus would have made a better leader than his brother.'_

"Mr. Lupin?" P.K. prods me, jolting me from my memories. "We're here, fourth floor."

My stomach is in knots as I pull the door open and start down the hallway again and as suddenly as a stroke of heat lightning my pace quickens, my focus sharpens, and I reach his frigid room to find him lying soaked in his own sweat, breath rattling, body retching substances that no longer are contained within.

Reaching from the doorknob, to the dresser, to Kevin, to a chair, I physically push myself further into his cold hospital room, chilled so as to awaken the slumbering savior, chilled to save him from his nightmares. I haven't been forced into this much activity following the moon in a number of years. The pain of it, and subsequent hiding of said agony, is taking just as much energy as the deceiving ease of crossing the room.

"Open the windows," I say in passing, Kevin stepping with me, and I reach out with one hand to find the mattress below Harry and myself, gently lowering down, never taking my eyes from poor Harry's face. "He's cold, open the windows," I repeat.

"We thought maybe if we cooled the room off it would-" he begins.

"It would force him awake?" I cut in. "No, it only fuels the memories. He spent four weeks lying on the floor of a lighthouse. He was always cold. It needs to be warmer in here, much warmer," I say, and immediately I begin to rub at his arms and fingers as if he suffered from hypothermia. They do feel a bit icy but he lulls his head as if in some miserable, distant army cot and I now that he can't feel or understand what I'm doing to him. I just have to trust that he'll believe I've tried to help him when he awakens and that he'll accept how badly I wanted to save him through this night even with my disability.

"I thought you said that you would be here first thing in the morning," Kevin states.

"Plans changed," I say shortly and look down to Harry once more, wishing once again that I could have been here sooner.

* * *

Aaaaaaaaaand scene! Bueno? No Bueno? (Good? No Good?) Drop me a line and let me know!

Reviews:

_Melindaleo_: heehee, haven't you ever thought about one of your best friends when you needed a distraction? I love to think about the way my friends laugh when I'm bored, so don't get too squeamish about a H/Hr moment 'cause that was not my intention:D

_Truthxinxshadow_: did you get RotK extended? I hope you did, it totally rocks!

_TokyoTeen13_: Is that a Napolean Dynamite quote I see? "lucky…." :D How did your operation go? I hope it all went well!

_Dianne_: Hey! I'm so sorry that I haven't reviewed your story beyond that first chapter. It is totally awesome and I love it, I've just been a horrible person and haven't told you just how much first hand. But I totally think it rocks! I hope that your story is showing up now and that all of your reviewers come back and repost some of the ones that you lost! Congratulations on the kick-ss story:D

_Jkh1_: Hi and welcome to the story! Wow… 3am reading! I never would have thought people would do that with my story! -blushes- Anywhoo! Sorry about not updating again and I hope you continue to like it!

_Teah__ Leafs_: Sequel! AAAAHHHHH! Lol! I just have a lot of crazy random thoughts that won't work in "Sleeping" but will totally work if I do a sequel because most of the scenes in my head contain Kate (yay Kate!) but as we all know how fast THIS story gets updated, the sequel thing is far beyond the back burner, but it's inching it's way out of the freezer. :D And I love your little review from January 10 that just says "Update!" It made me laugh! Thank you!

_Stupid Man Suit:_ well, it's sooner than four months, right? -smiles sheepishly- Hope you like it!

_CurlsofSerentiy_: OoooOOOoooOOooo… you're breaking out the interesting questions… all in good time, my dear! All in good time! (Sorry, I have very few secrets in this story and that just happens to touch very closely to one of them!)

Happy Saint Patty's Day everybody! Cross the border and go get wasted! (Or be like me and be the designated walker.)

Cheers!

Tini :D


	16. HalfLife

July 9, 2005

Disclaimer: I own this just as much as I own USA's "The 4400."

Authors Note: So life has been awesome in the land of Tini as of late! (when was the last time I wrote that? Umm… never!) I've been at summer stock theatre painting my little heart out and having the best time doing it! No school work, no stupid people or mean professors breathing down my neck, and best of all - Beach Volleyball Mondays! Aw, yeah! (and do I play beach volleyball, you ask? No, I'm complete rubbish, but I have a great time pretending that I do!)

All hail to NiennaTru for getting me to post this chapter! I feel so honored that she mentioned my fic specifically on her bio page that I had to stop dragging my feet with the problems in this chapter and just fix them already! So here's to Tru! Raise your glasses together now, and _clink_, _clink!_ Cheers to you!

And now, the long awaited, but not as highly anticipated, Chapter 16! (I say that because seriously, what are you waiting for more - me or Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince coming in less than 6 days? That's what I thought!) Happy Reading!

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_I have no idea what being a werewolf feels like, but it can't be any worse than how I feel now. My limbs are shaking with such uncontrollable madness that I know my body is going to shatter with cold, yet every blanket that is lain on top of me feels as if it burns and it sets my bones on fire. But my body fights back, raining sweat upon the flames, dousing them out, only to be lit again once the quivering breaks for a few seconds time. _

_My brain feels like it will explode at any given moment; I can feel it beating on the nape of my neck, on the canals of my ears, on the soft flesh above my eyes. I try to keep them closed, knowing that one peek at my surroundings will seal my death sentence, but closing them too tightly makes my headache grow worse. _

_My insides feel like they've been opened and pulled out, wild animals clawing and chewing away at will, only to be shoved back in and my stomach sown closed. I am certain if I peel my shirt from my skin, the scars, nay the stitches will still be there._

_I have been writhing on my side in an unknown bed for over fourteen hours now. _

_I have thrown up a total of seventeen times in five distinct rounds. _

**_My God, when is Remus going to get here?_**

**_-_**

"Well I don't know what happened with your plans but you look horrible. Are you certain you don't want me to fetch anybody for you?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I hear through a thick, foggy haze. "How long has he been sleeping exactly?" There's pressure between my shoulder blades and on my forehead.

"Almost fifteen hours. I've never seen anybody sleep through anything like that before."

The pressure moves down to my side, gently onto my stomach. My illness isn't gone yet and I can't help but curl away from the pain and the pressure which quickly moves to my spine, pushing me forward. There are fingers around my wrist now, a firm grasp that tells me he is finally here. The shaking has yet to leave me.

"I am so sorry. Please forgive me for not being here." I can barely catch his whisper. But just as resolutely as the pressure of his protective hand was there, it is suddenly gone, and I feel lost without the voice or the contact.

"He was throwing up all night long," the other voice says, now clearly recognizable as Kevin, "but he never woke up. I don't understand it. And he was perfectly fine when he went to bed. It happened in the night, just _bam!_ out of nowhere."

I still feel like I'm going to throw-up.

"How high did his fever get?" Remus asks, concern flooding his voice.

"One-hundred and six point eight," he says incredulously. "He's lucky just to be alive this morning. There was nothing to give him for the fever, it all came right back up. Finally, we talked to one of the Healers downstairs about making the potion a paste that we could apply to his forehead and neck; thankfully it worked. The fever came down to one-hundred and one point six at four o'clock this morning, but for some reason his body is still treating the higher temperature."

I can hear him sigh next to my bed, and I feel his palm return over the back of my hand, his fingers lacing through my lifeless ones; lifeless fingers that would give anything to react.

I can't breathe; the little that gets through is haggard and wet. Coughs are harsh and strangled.

"He's still trying to make himself throw-up?" Remus asks a bit rhetorically.

"Yes, but there is nothing we can do to ease him because he won't let us give him anything anymore. Somehow in his sleep he knows not to allow us passage, so to speak, and he can't help himself because there is nothing left in him to expel," Kevin notes.

_I don't know want I want exactly, but I do know that I want help._

"That would make sense; it fits," Remus whispers under his breath.

"Sorry?" Kevin's voice sounds from my other side.

"Poison. He thought, towards the end… he started to think they were poisoning him. He wouldn't… never mind," he finishes quickly, and I am grateful that his words have stopped; they know too many of my fears already.

Remus' other hand rests over my forehead; I can feel his fingers intertwining in my hair while he and Kevin talk over my journey through the night. Unable to do anything but appear in a horrible, restless sleep I manage to worm myself to the side of the bed and Remus knowingly helps me to inch my chin over the edge. Finally, the air fills my lungs. A cool breeze mops away my boiling sweat underneath his fingers, my shivering comes to a stand still, the choking vomit I've been fighting ceases.

In my mind I close my eyes, thankful for the release that I have been given and I open them to find myself lying, pain and discomfort free, on the grassy edge of a cliff overlooking the salty sea. The waves are steadily crashing on the rocks below, white froth foaming with a gentle rustle. A cool, misty breeze blows my hair from my face. The scent is clean and untouched. The sound of the sea, the gulls, and a voice fill my ears. It's strange to feel that I've returned home.

I take in a deep, fulfilling breath and slowly release it only to realize that I should be surprised at myself. This exact location just a month ago was a place of despair, sadness, anger, but especially hopelessness. Why do I feel at home? This conflict of emotions strangles me and I feel completely lost in my ambivalence. My initial feeling of welcome and safety are quickly fading. I don't know what I want anymore.

The thought of Cara quickly comes to mind. It was here that I would sit while "free" in captivity. Over time she came to me, that mythical girl in the blue grass. Her support was the grounding that I needed to carry on, even though we rarely spoke. I can recall many a night when we would just sit here, in this spot, and look over the waves saying nothing but somehow her strength reached me. I know I wouldn't have survived without her, but then, have I? I certainly haven't escaped yet if I'm still here every night in my sleep. Still, I'm free in captivity.

I can't help but wonder what she would think if she saw me now. I take a look at myself, lying as I am, and know that I look worn, shabby, frail. I am not the boy she used to know. When we first met I had at least been sleeping well; I'm sure I didn't look haggard as I do now. The dark circles under my eyes that greet me every morning did not greet her the first time she appeared from the mist. The occasional inability to calm the tremors that mark my poor physicality never saw her until the end of my stay here. At least the actual signs of my torture have vanished. That is one thing I'm sure she would appreciate seeing. She used to tell me that she was proud of me for being so strong through slow torture; I don't think she would think that anymore.

"What wouldn't I think anymore?" that voice calls softly yet her voice sounds only inches from my ear. I sit up slowly and turn around to see the grass waving blue ripples in the deep morning light while a wisp of sea smoke, swaying far from the sea in the nearby woods, dances and solidifies into a familiar form. My voice catches in my throat; I didn't expect her to arrive.

"But I thought that's what you wanted? For me to meet you?"

"I did, I mean, I do," I falter as I stand, "I just-"

"You just didn't think we would be meeting under these circumstances," she softly says from a distance, gesturing to our loathsome landscape.

"Why are we here?" I ask hopelessly towards her and the darkness.

"I thought we just went over that," she replies while she approaches.

"I know but-"

"Why _here?_ It's… hard for me to go other places. I didn't think this place, this exact spot of land that we stand on here, together, held _so much_ pain for you. You were free in this spot, on this cliff," she says, finally before me.

"Free only in thought," I mumble. "They still had me, they probably always will."

"But you were not under their complete control. Here, you were safe from their arms if only for a short time."

Dejectedly, I look out over the ocean to the horizon where the waters are beginning to shimmer with pinks and golds.

"You must not be so hard on yourself, my young one. A grown man would have fallen under such pressure where you stood strong, being battered by the storm."

"I didn't stand strong," I say, finally speaking aloud the truth that I have withheld for the past four weeks. "Everybody says that, but I wasn't brave in there, I didn't do anything heroic. I survived, and barely at that. If Snape wouldn't have helped me I would have died in there, no question about it."

"How many people speak with you on the levels of bravery?" she says "Just because you did not fight them with your fists everyday doesn't mean that you weren't brave. You told me once of being brought to that- that _vile_ man and how you stood before him and did not falter while his men fell back in fear of his wrath."

"I was exhausted. I was more focused on my knees not giving out than standing up to him," I pass off easily.

"But a weak person would have focused on their fear of such a man; you've done no such thing."

"But I am afraid of him!" I say emotionally. "He'll kill me one day and it's not going to be pleasant. I'm surprised he never threw me off this cliff, or dropped me from the top of the tower. What would there be to focus on other than fear in those instances?" I ask rhetorically. "Fear for myself, fear for my friends, fear for the world," I whisper to no one.

"It does not matter what you feel on the way down," she muses quietly after a moment, "what matters is what you have done before you are pushed. I told you once that it is okay to find the beauty in the mess, Harry. That it's what makes you beautiful, an optimist. It makes you who you are."

"I'm not an optimist," I say honestly. "I don't feel like I can take the pressure of finding the good in things anymore. I don't know if I care to."

"I think you do," she says lovingly. "Otherwise it's like you said, why are you here?"

I have no reply for her, no retort or justification. I _am_ tired of being sad and isolated all the time, but I don't know any other way to live my life. It's a furious cycle, and cycles have no end.

"Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?" she asks.

"Nothing in particular," I say after suppressing the many thoughts that I do want to talk about. "I just wanted to see you again I guess. I've missed you," I allow myself to say, and in a way it pains me to do so.

"I know," she says confidently as she places her hand on the back of my neck. "I've missed you too. You know you are always welcome to come and visit me. Those men have moved on, they haven't been here since just after you were rescued.'

"Cara, I couldn't… Remus, he would…"

"Think it was odd? Unhealthy?" she supplies. "Perhaps the former but not the latter. I think he would like to come here with you, help you face your fears… He's not going to leave you, Harry," she whispers reassuringly. "I know you're afraid that if he finds out about me, he'll think you've gone mad and run - that he'll pass you off onto somebody else and that you'll lose another person that you care about, but he would never leave you, not in a million years."

Without warning, I find myself breaking down, turbulent rivers running down my face and no means whatsoever to stop them. How could she know such a deep seated fear and lay it out in front of me as clearly as a textbook with no more feeling than that? How could she know? How did she always know?

"I've checked up on you, sweetheart," she says soothingly. "You are going to be fine."

I brashly wipe away the tears on my face and sit down with a _thump_ on the cold, blue grass.

_"You are brave_, my love" she says strongly, "and you fight as hard as you can every second of every day of your life but now is the time to stop. All of the people around you - your friends, professors, your headmaster - they are giving you time to be yourself, to find who you are and make the most of your life while you are young and have the will to live it. There is a time for heroics, and there is a time to be free.'

"I don't think I've ever been young, or free," I say miserably.

"Then it's high time you start, don't you think?" Her words ring true but the problems never lie in her words, it's in the execution. My weight feels heavy as I run my hands over sticky blades of grass, my fingers through bits of gravel and sand. "Remus doesn't want you to fight anymore," she says as she sits down next to me, "at least, not emotionally. All he wants is for you to get better. He loves you just as much as your parents and Sirius."

All of her words are just washing over me now. There is no way for me to stop my embarrassing overflow of emotion and I don't know what I would interject with if I could. I peer down to the water far below, stewing over the past and the future to come. The pinks and golds of the present dawn have broken the distant horizon spreading their colors far into the heavens and fairly dissipating the smoke that has hovered on the cliff around me.

"Harry," she whispers, "what is it you wanted to talk to me about? The time is fast approaching when I will no longer be with you."

Turning only my eyes to see her, it is plain that she is fading in the morning light; the wind rushing through her hair and clothes is taking more than their billowing in payment for their dance.

"Your fears run deep, my brave son, but there is nothing I can do to help you if you will not tell me why you brought us here. Harry, the daylight is covering the land," she says more urgently, "you must speak quickly."

"I can't," I say quietly. "I don't know why we're here. I don't know why I came to this place. Maybe I did come here to see you, maybe I'm not here at all… maybe it's all just a dream."

"You know a dream when you have one, my love. Perhaps this is a matter that we need to discuss when we have more time. Perhaps this is a discussion for Remus to join us in."

"I don't want to bring him here. I don't want him to see this place."

"I cannot be seen beyond these borders by anyone. I can't explain that day when you could. You must bring him here, Harry, and Severus Snape. When you do, you will understand _why_ you feel safe here now, but Severus can not be safe until I have seen him once more… he must know what I do."

"What?" I ask urgently. "What does he have to know?" but she's fading fast, she's almost gone. "Cara?" I call, but she's already stood up and run back towards the fading mist in the trees.

_I can't let her run away from something as important as this!_ I think worriedly as I grip the grass below me in preparation to rise, but instead of soft green blades and bits of gravel I feel soft sheets, and instead of feeling the cool breeze of the ocean on the side of my chin I feel the rill of a mattress. My hands grip tightly, they know what is to come, and the calm after the storm, it seems, has become the calm before. The ice and fire, the headaches and pain return in one horrible swoop and I choke out vomit all over the hospital floor. Number eighteen, it seems, is nothing but bile. Black and sticky and vile enough in smell and taste to entice number nineteen to hasten its arrival. Remus, however, has caught them both in a bin from beside my bed and quickly calls for a cool cloth to place on my forehead as I gasp desperately for air, finally awake and away from all of the nightmares.

Shaking from head to toe, he lifts me up and slips me back to the center of my bed. I can't help but moan in pain, my headache mounting while my shivers slow. Finally, I feel that the end is near.

"Its okay, Harry, we'll make it through this," Remus says, placing the back of his hand against my forehead before swiping the cloth over my face and neck, laying it against my brow.

He waves to Kevin and he passes him something beyond my eyesight and I feel him sit down beside me, a thermometer in his hands.

"I want to check, Harry, you felt cooler just now than you did when I arrived," he explains and I nod my head as best I can. Lightly, he takes hold of my chin and I open my mouth just a sliver, accepting the glass that he holds still in my quivering jaw, stroking my hair to calm me. I feel too broken at the moment to joke and hum Elvis' songs as I have done for the past month whenever in this situation, but now Remus takes my job, humming a steady Beatles' tune that I can't quite place. Try as I might, I just can't smile through the cough that I'm suppressing. The first verse and chorus complete, he retrieves it carefully from my mouth, reading, "Ninety-nine point seven."

The morning has come and the nightmare is supposed to be over, but somehow it continues. I cough harshly into his hand; he's still trying to calm me down.

"How do you feel? Are you awake now? You're not going to relapse?" he asks carefully; his hand shakes against my temple.

I nod through a tough swallow. Nothing is caught in my throat anymore but the bile has left it ablaze and I just can't get the taste out of my mouth.

"Here," he says, taking a glass of water from the nightstand, "take some but don't swallow it. You're not ready for that yet," and gently, he and Kevin help pull me to my elbows so I can take a sip just to spit it back out again into the next glass he holds for me. We repeat this process three times before I'm shaking so bad on my arms that they let me lie down again. I feel nothing but exhaustion. Kevin's hands rest supportively on my back and Remus keeps talking but I don't understand a word of what he's saying. His face keeps swimming in and out of focus, the room drifting in circles before my eyes. And while the front of my mind can't help but obey my unheard wishes, the back of my mind screams, "_No!_" and I can't help but fall asleep one more time to the voice that Lord Voldemort won't touch.

* * *

So there you have it! You'll be happy to know that I've forgotten how I planned to end this which lifts the writers block load and reading Stephen King's "The Shining" has new fic ideas running rampant!

Congratulations to Ava Monroe for snagging the latest chapter title, "I Hate Myself for Losing You" by Kelly Clarkson- you know where you're headed! Straight into Harryville!

Thanks again to Tru and to everybody out there in fandom for r & r - ing, especially: emmamme, NiennaTru, IrishEyesAreSmiling, mybacktotheshadows, Stupid Man Suit, ParanoiaIn2005, Moony-san, TeahLeafs, Thee-Unknown-Factor, Dianne, Ava Monroe, Pleione, jkh1, Lupin123, Melindaleo and Rosiegirl! I love you all!

All my love to everyone, especially those in London,

TiniTinuviel


	17. Here You Me, May Angels Lead You In

January 8, 2006

Author's Note: Yep - it's been about 6 months. Ah well. Okay, enough of this, here's our next chapter! Yay!

Disclaimer: While leftovers may still taste good at 9:30am the next morning out of a Styrofoam box, nothing beats the original meal!

* * *

He's so pale. His breathing is shallow - Merlin, look how white he is… His breath seems so raspy… or is that just my imagination? It can't be… he's been so sick. His hair is patchy, alternating between being wet and dry - dry and crisp from the incessant sweat that pours off his face. Why couldn't this have been any other night? Why did it have to happen now? And why did I have to insist that he be _here_ last night instead of at home?

"Remus?" his voice startles me. "Remus, are you… alright?" Kevin asks. His face is a mixture of concern for Harry's sudden and rapidly declining symptoms and apparently my suddenly gained symptoms of something he has yet to figure out, thank Merlin.

I take in a long breath and search deep within me but it doesn't take long to discover that I'm not alright. I'm far from it. The pain in my joints and muscles is slowly waning to a dull throb; my stretched skin aches as it continues to readjust to its natural size and shape, my head pounding under the trauma it has once again suffered while I've had nothing I could do to stop it. But I also find that beyond my physical pain, there is a much tenderer ache placed deep within me from _him_. From James' little boy with the big, green, curious eyes, the flabby little arms, the enormous cheeks and that drastic difference between sheepish giggle and deep belly laugh that only Peter could make him release. That little boy that fell asleep on my chest after a long, tear-filled day at the age of 4 months; that little boy who'd slobber in Lily's chocolate milk and make heads turn at pubs. That little boy who changed my life just with his presence and amazing drive to protect others two years ago, and that little boy who reminded me just yesterday morning that no matter how big he gets, he will always be a little boy. Our little boy… James and Lily's, Sirius and mine. Ours.

I rub my thumb over his temple again, brush back some of his hair, pull his blankets up a little bit more and make sure that he's warm. It doesn't escape my notice that his palm is clammy and that his breathing is still shallow, wet and ragged.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I reply.

"No offense, but you don't really look it. Can I have somebody come in and check you out?" He asks, looking pointedly at me while picking up Harry's wrist to check his pulse.

"No, I'm fine," I repeat blandly.

I know he doesn't believe me but I don't really care. For the last forty-five minutes, Harry has been lying propped up between his side and his back just in case his dreams strike again; it will be easier to get him on his stomach if he's sick again this way. His fever officially broke when he woke up but he still feels warm to me - I can't deny that I'm starting to worry. What if he dreamed of something else other than his illness? He never had a chance to tell us what it was he saw in his sleep before he passed out in exhaustion, falling unconscious without hope of us waking him. It could have been anything - and it doesn't soothe my troubled mind a bit that he never actually told me the whole story of his capture, this could have been a reaction to quite literally anything...

"I'm going to go discuss the future treatment of these dreams of Harry's with Healer Rainer." Kevin says, breaking my thoughts. "Have they always been this bad?" he adds almost as an afterthought.

"No," I say, "this has been one of the worst to date, at least in the physical sense," I add in a murmur.

Kevin nods, even though I'm clearly not looking at him. "I'll be back," he says, "and hopefully soon." Now I nod even though he doesn't see me. As the door closes silently behind his even footsteps, I look down to him once more and whisper, "My little boy, what have I done to you now?"

"Remus? How is he?" a soft voice asks just after Kevin closes the door. It's Tonks.

"Sleeping, thank Merlin... I think…" I say and shake my head in disgust of myself. She sheds her windbreaker and tosses it on a chair before pulling up a chair beside me.

"I heard what Molly and the boys did to you," she says quietly. "You seem pretty upset."

"Understatement of the century, that is," I say vehemently, releasing Harry's hand. "They know that I'm the only one that's been able to wake him up when he's having these horrible nightmares and then the one night that he needs me the most and he's away from home and afraid of being in a new place, they drug me to keep me away! How sick can they be? Don't they realize what they've done to Harry?" I finish angrily.

"They were probably just trying to help you," she says softly and calmly. "They love Harry just as much as you, if not more just because they've known him longer. I'm sure if they knew what kind of night he was going to have then they never would have done it… Did they know?" she asks as an afterthought.

I pause and search my memory. _Did I ever tell them what Harry and I had discussed?_ "I don't think so," I grudgingly reply. "But that doesn't give them the right-"

"You're right," she says placatingly. "You are absolutely right; they never should have done it-"

"Harry could have been hurt!" I repeat, "He was hurt!"

"Yes, Harry was the one caught in the middle of this, but maybe things will turn out alright in the end."

"How could they be alright?" I ask, just a bit derisively.

"Well, that boy…" she paused, "the genius nurse boy… help me out with his name," she said.

"Kevin-"

"Yes, Kevin, he and Healer Rainer are going to figure something out to help him and maybe by them seeing what a struggle these dreams or memories or whatever they are can be, it will speed their efforts to help him."

"How can they help him?" I ask, unable to hide the desperation in my voice. "We don't even know how it's happening."

"That's what _they're_ here for, Remus. You know _what's_ happening and _why_ it's happening, they get to figure out how to stop it."

"What if I could have stopped this a month ago? What if this whole thing could have been avoided?"

"The 'What if's' will kill you Remus. There's nothing that you could have done to change things and don't think for a minute that forcing him to talk to you would have solved all of these problems he has now," she said sharply. "If you would have forced him, he might have clammed up anyway and then he may have resented you to boot. He's been forced into things his whole life, especially talking about his problems. It's time that he goes through these things on his own terms, keeps some things to himself. You did the right thing."

"I don't know… Dumbledore always made him talk…" I start.

"But look where it got him," she counters. "Harry has shared every minute detail of his encounters with Voldemort with Dumbledore and in turn Dumbledore has kept his own affairs private. Harry's coming to the point where he doesn't even know if he can trust him anymore, but he still trusts you. Your understanding of his need for time has strengthened your bond and I guarantee that he will thank you for it. Just stay strong, Remus, you'll see."

-

After about two hours, Healer Rainer and Kevin finally came back in, shortly after I started dozing. I tried fighting it, but Tonks was insistent that she would wake me if Harry showed any signs of movement. I supposed I must have been too adamant that she was rouse me at literally any sign because she teasingly made sure to check that Harry breathing was a forgivable development. After grouchily conceding, but inwardly smiling at her prattiness, I fell asleep. But as they walked in the doors, I woke up immediately and wiped sleep out of my eyes all grudges against Tonks long forgotten.

"Remus," Healer Rainer said, looking much like Tonks in that she was wide awake and able unlike the men in the room - being only Kevin, Harry and myself, "we have much to discuss." Pointedly she looked over at Tonks, asking with only her eyes if I wished to speak in private.

"It's alright," I sigh wearily, "she doesn't know everything but then even I don't know it all."

"If you're sure," Healer Rainer says, as if waiting for me to change my mind. When I make no motion to do so, she pulls up a chair for both her and Kevin as he conjures his notes and summons Harry's charts. "As I should hope is obvious, we are deeply concerned about Harry's reactions last night. We have reviewed as much of it as possible while trying to finish in a timely fashion so as to not keep you in the dark. Before I say anything further I want to assure you that we will be returning to our notes and studies as soon as this meeting is complete. Please do not think that because we had a quick review that we will not be continuing our studies and thus miss something - the both of us are far too meticulous for that."

Minutely, I nod in understanding and thanks; Tonks meanwhile simply sits and observes.

"One of the things that we agreed upon that disturbed us the most is the fact that Harry proved impossible to wake while so obviously not being in a comatose state. Then upon regaining wakefulness, he shortly thereafter _did_ become comatose and has so far remained in that state. The second thing that disturbed us was that from the way both he and you have spoken of these episodes, he must have been dreaming of a previous illness of the same or greater magnitude that has since returned to antagonize both mind and body which is of course why you brought him here to us. I am not going to lie to you and say that I expected his condition to be so severe. I am loathe to admit that I rather thought you both were highly exaggerating his condition and now neither myself nor Kevin believe that he will be prepared to leave this facility under a number of weeks. We have already begun working up a schedule for counseling, time to record thoughts and memories in his journal which was given to him yesterday afternoon and of course strictly observed visiting hours with emphasis on a plethora of visitor variety. We will be more than happy to assist you in screening said parties if that is something that you desire.

"More importantly, we feel that we were mistaken to ask you to not speak for him when you first arrived. It is clear that we will need every bit of information available to us in order to exact the cause of these episodes. There are two possible instigators that we can see: one, that they have been instigated by a Dark spell." I couldn't help but nod here; the thought had crossed my mind as well. There were a few half hearted offers by Order members to look into it, but it seemed that with everything else that was going on, it was on the bottom of everyone's lists, even my own. After time, oddly enough, it just seemed like an insignificant idea - unrealistic, and a wild attempt at answers. From the looks of Harry, we should never have let our apathy lead us away from that path. "We would like to know of every event that you are aware of should a clue arise that will lead us to its exact form. We will be researching independently soon, but without any direction to start from, we will, quite literally, be searching blind. The second possibility is that these reactions are stress related; a consequence due to the accumulation of the events themselves and lacking an appropriate outlet for repressed memories and emotions." She pauses meaningfully and looks me squarely in the eye. For some reason, I find it unsettling. "We were hoping to begin this process of siphoning off your memories of the events soon if not immediately so that we may be better equipped to assist Harry when he awakens."

Quickly I raise my hands, willing Healer Rainer to stop. It seems a million thoughts and feelings are running through my head at once and not one stays long enough for me to fully grasp it. In truth, I am grateful for her apologies and only mildly resent her reluctance to believe me and Harry when we had arranged his stay here… Okay, so deep down I _really_ resent her, but I try to hide it as best I can. How could she not believe us? Why would we lie about the magnitude of his dreams, or even exaggerate them? For attention? Hardly when we demanded the strictest of confidence and absolute secrecy…

"You haven't mentioned any of this to any body else, have you?" I ask suddenly, feeling that if she really hasn't realized how serious we were, she may have told any body, any body at all.

"No, of course I haven't," she says, and mercifully she doesn't look at me as if scalded or scandalized. Her tone and body language are firmly set in "reassuring" mode and there is no hint of patronization in her voice whatsoever. Kevin also eagerly states that he hasn't uttered a word to any one, but in truth I am far from worried about him. He'd been with Harry most of the day before and had witnessed the smaller scenes before the grand performance last night. No, everything about his behavior just screams that he is Harry's man, through and through. There is no need to worry about him in any capacity. Yet, I can't just offer up information to the hospital staff that Harry has so explicitly sworn me not to repeat, or has begged me to understand. I cannot betray him that way, it would tear him apart and that is not a can of worms I am ready and willing to poke into.

This is it, my mind is set.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Rainer, but I can't do that," I say, trying to keep as much of the annoyance and bitter triumph out of my voice as possible.

"Pardon me?" she says, quiet unmistakably shocked.

"I can't tell you anything about Harry's ordeal. Not without him awake." When she begins to open her mouth in protest I quickly re-raise my hands in a placating manner and say, "It's something that Harry has to approve. This was something that happened to him and I refuse to break his confidence, even for this."

Healer Rainer suddenly looks flabbergasted, as if someone has come up behind her and doused her with freezing cold water. She sits up straighter in her chair, shoulders far back and her eyes wide with surprise. From the corner of my eye, I can see that Tonks looks silently pleased. Kevin, on the other hand, looks disappointed in me, a look I often remember receiving from one or both of my parents, and Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall... The familiar pang of guilt reverberates against the inside of my chest but I am quick to stop the hollow strum. I'm doing this out of spite, after all. Sure, spite is a welcome by-factor, but it isn't the solitary reason.

"You have to understand," I begin again, "he was with them for a month. He suffered physically, mentally, emotionally, any and every way you can think of under those people and the pain that he feels… that is his soul to bear, his scabs to peel back. I refuse to be the Dementor in this and I refuse to let you tear off his bandages and reveal the blood and gore underneath because that's what it is. He tries to hide it, and he does pretty well when he's on the top of his game, but his old wounds, the ones inside that no one sees, haven't even begun clotting yet, let alone healing. I help him through his stories when I know what he went through, but I don't tell them unless I have permission - which I have yet to have been granted."

"Don't you understand the repercussions this could have?" she breaks back in, her voice finally having come back to her, and it is very angry indeed. "Your reluctance could delay his healing process by weeks, months, years even, Mr. Lupin! A mistake of this magnitude, because that's what this decision could very well be, a _mistake_, could ruin his chances for a happy life!"

I suddenly find myself silenced. After all, that had practically been my argument to Tonks just a few short hours ago. My unwillingness to make him speak had damaged him, and was now only making it worse. I drop my eyes in self-disappointment. It is true - I have contributed to his pain and have been an accomplice to this slowly revolving mystery and slow emotional murder of one Harry Potter.

"I think Remus is being quite clear," I suddenly hear a crisp voice say from behind me. "Just as you have every right of patient/doctor confidentiality, so does he. Remus has not just been some housekeeper or servant to Harry - he's been helping him through this in the best way he knows how and I for one support him in that," Tonks finishes firmly. Without warning the door suddenly swings open wide and two tall red-headed men say, "Us too!"

"Fred, George, what are you doing here?" I ask as I stand to greet them.

"Well, we heard that almost everyone has gotten the boot from seeing Harry in some form or fashion lately and thought that he might like a spot of company while he's laid up like this, if it's alright with you of course," George adds as they cautiously take a few steps into the room. "Can we come in? We're not interrupting anything are we?"

"Well actually-" Healer Rainer begins.

"We were just finishing up," I break in, unable to stop the small growl in my throat. The irritation I feel for Rainer has finally begun to eat at the underside of my skin. "I think Harry would really like to see you two. I know he's missed you and Ginny terribly." Then turning back to healer and aide, I say, "Ms. Rainer, Kevin, we appreciate everything that you have done for us thus far. If you would be so kind as to inform us when you've come across anything that seems important we would be most grateful." Kevin nods without saying a word, rolling up his notes and hiding Harry's charts with a flick of his wand. He walks out slowly, eyeing me before he goes but something changes in his depths… something akin to a realization.

Healer Rainer doesn't exit so quietly. "Remus, I would like to speak with you alone," she says emphatically, nodding toward the hallway.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Rainer," I say, annoyance finally seeping through, "but the Weasleys have been with Harry through thick and thin and they deserve some explanation as to what he has been suffering through, including last night," I add mercilessly.

"Well if you are going to discuss the events of his trauma I feel that I should be there in order to more properly-"

"I will not be discussing anything that you don't already know about and I doubt hearing them a second time will provide you with any more insight. If you have any questions for me I will answer them when I have finished my conversation with these two gentlemen. Now if you please," I finish, standing up and motioning toward the door. Slack jawed and gaping, she huffs in a fury and stalks toward the corridor, sharply stopping before she reaches out for the door handle.

"This is your decision, Mr. Lupin, _yours_. I hope you understand the full consequences of what you are disagreeing with, on all accounts." She clearly thinks she has just won some sort of battle.

"Thank you," I reply, "I most certainly do." She looks at me in a bit of a shock before bursting out of the room, her robes too starched to firmly whip or swish out behind her.

"What was that about?" Fred asks as the door closes with a _clang-clunk, _notably looking as if he had just walked into a room where his parents were arguing.

"Nothing," I say after a moment, sitting back down, just a touch winded. "She just wants more information out of me than Harry would be alright with." The twins look a bit uncomfortable at that and George pokes at Fred as he starts to fidget.

"What's all this about?" I ask as some of my anger fizzles out having never seen the twins so nervous before - not even the time one of their pranks escaped in my classroom and I had to give them detention for a week for destroying some of my cages and killing a few creatures.

"Nothing really," George says, "but we did want to thank you for the message saying that Harry was here. It's been murder not knowing anything about him these past few weeks." Silently I nod.

"But, you see, we were wondering," Fred began.

"Don't ask him that!" George says with a shove this time.

"What? You want to know as much as I do!" he counters.

"Know what?" I ask.

"Nothing, Fred is just being a prat," George quickly tries to cover.

"That's not what you said on the way over here!" Fred counters.

"I said I was curious, not that we should actually say something!"

"Hold on!" I say a little louder than I intended and immediately look to Harry, hoping on one hand that I haven't woken him - hoping on the other that I have. "What is going on?"

Suddenly they stop their bickering and again look a bit guilty. "Fred, what is it that you want to ask me?"

With his chin tilted up a bit in defiance of his brother, and some obvious arrogance, he still says timidly, "Why did you tell us and not Ron and Hermione?"

* * *

Author's (second) note: Now I can say thank you, Thank You, THANK YOU! to everyone who read, reviewed, and found a way to review a second time to tell me to get off my lazy patooty and get this up!

Especially: goodxTORNxevil, Riker15, duestchwolfsorceress, Earthmom, nerd2006, SpecialParanoia aka ParanoiaIn2005, Stupid Man Suit, marthsgirls, TeahLeafs (aka Polly) and Leslie, NiennaTru, emmamme, Dianne, jkh1, mybacktotheshadows, Megsy, Melindaleo, IrishEyesAreSmiling, Moony-san, Thee-Unknown-Factor, Ava Monroe, Pleione, Lupin123, rosiegirl, and brooke!

You guys… what can I say? I just read through the reviews you left me and I don't know how I keep convincing myself that you guys don't like this and aren't going to come back! I'm going to have to start reading your reviews more often! You all are far too kind and I really feel humbled (and giggly like a four year old) that you think so much of my wee-little fic! I'm going to try and go back and reply to a lot of your postings if I can and if I can't and you did ask me questions you want answered, drop me a line (my email is on my profile) or if you're rockin' the MySpace, you can drop me a line there (also on my profile under "homepage").

And now I have to shamelessly ask about another fic that I've lost - I know a ton of you out there had to have read it (in fact I'm sure one of you wrote it! I'm sorry I lost you!) It was a shortie fic about Lupin's final exam in third year - but when Hermione goes in the box to fight the Boggart (WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD), she doesn't see McGonagall telling her she failed, she sees Ron and Harry, just a little dead. Anyone know the title or author? I miss that one a lot and desperately need to review it!

I hope this latest installment has been worth at least part of the wait - and again, I am completely flattered (and quite flattened!) by the reviews you all have left me - and the thoughts some of you are thinking!

I hope everyone has had a Happy New Year and that you all have seen HP4 about 3 times - I still have to see it at the IMAX, that Horntail is going to be SOOO awesome when it's bigger than my house! Sa-weet:D

Thanks again and much love to everyone!

tinitinuviel :D


	18. Stand

December 18, 2006

Authors note: You've waited, you've begged, you've even threatened (which I dig, by the way!) and here it is! Chapter 18 of "I Know I'm Not Sleeping!" It's been a long time coming and unfortunately does not include the ending I had planned on, but it's longer than most chapters and the it'll make the next one that much more interesting! I hope you enjoy it! It feels good to be posting again!

Disclaimer: If you think I own any of these characters then you're about as useful as boobs on a man!

* * *

Both Fred and George shift uneasily on their feet as I slouch back in my chair as I consider his question. '_Why did you tell us and not Ron and Hermione?_' Simple really, at least to my mind it was. Fred and George could provide friendship for Harry, brotherhood, they could serve as confidants, and, to put my mind at ease, they were in The Order. The Order; the only thing that really kept me from calling their brother. That and I've always thought Ron a bit too hasty, too vocal, and, regrettably, too loud-mouthed. In retrospect, I feel slightly ashamed that I thought such bad things about the young man; he is Harry's best friend after all. He's probably been keeping secrets for him since the day they met. I'm sure he would have proved himself famously in front of me, but in my own haste I shrugged him off, tossed his possibilities out the window like an old gum wrapper to the highway wind. Poor Ron. I shall have to think of some way to make this up to him; this and everything else that I've kept from him this summer. 

But Hermione - now Hermione is another story altogether…

-

I wake fearfully with a jump start, bolting up in bed so arduously and yet with such momentum that I actually jerk myself back and gasp for breath.

"Oh God, no… no, no, no…" I keep repeating and mumbling hazily, the colors of my nightmare shining brilliantly under closed eyelids and sweaty hands. My fingers pull tightly at locks of hair that fall across my forehead, grasping at the only thing close enough that I can still feel. My thumbs tense up at the pulse in my temples, the pads of my palms thumping along with the throbbing vein across my head. Only down my small strip of scar tissue do the vibrations cease; a welcome change from other current night terrors. I try not to think of the figures I've seen and the words that have been spoken but it all keeps burbling to the surface - those of the past, and those of tonight.

I don't have to try to recall her scared eyes, her quiet voice; they repeat themselves on an endless loop that thankfully diminishes some before restarting with their original strength. It's hard to press the memory out of my head of her sitting, so awkwardly, in a corner, wrists bound along with her ankles. Her brown eyes were staring at me in pure terror. It's hard to forget the black haze that slowly grew up and surrounded her while I tried desperately to undo her restraints, to awaken her mind, to convince her to run. The black haze that began to swallow the life in her eyes, that began to pull her emotions away from me, to convince her that she need only to be desperately afraid and to give in to it's power.

Hermione's never been lost before, but now this image, this fresh fear and stab of loneliness, because despite her best efforts she was falling away, clutches at my chest. It stops my breath and tries to force tears from my eyes, but I stop it before it can get any farther.

'_It was just a dream… just a dream, Harry…_' I tell myself. '_There's no scar pain, this is no memory. It's just a dream. She's fine. She's at home sleeping in her bed like_ you _should be doing instead of sitting here panicking for no good reason. Now get your breathing under control and relax before he hears you!' _But for some reason, I find that I _want_ to be found. In all the years that Aunt Petunia told me as I kneeled next to the side of her bed at midnight that I was to return to my cupboard and not bother her after bedtime, I wanted to be held, I wanted to be comforted and told that everything was going to be alright. But as time after time she told me to go to bed without care or compassion I grew to hate the thought of it. To be smothered by somebody else's chest and taken immobile by their arms. The thought of being completely at somebody else's mercy appalled me, and I shirked from it every chance I got - not that there were many. I would sidestep my classmates that were embraced by the flagpole when their parents came to pick them up, I would look away at supermarkets and shopping centers when older kids became affectionate with each other. But now… now, inexplicably, all I want is to be found, huddled over and weeping and to have Remus tell me that it was just a bad dream. But I know that he won't be knocking on my door. I know that he won't be prying my fingers open with gentle hands to free my face to the open air. I'm too old for this game, and so is he. '_Besides,_' I think'_you aren't allowed to call her and even if you could, she wouldn't pick up this late, and she certainly wouldn't recognize you_.'

This however, does nothing to calm my nerves. I'm almost even more worried than before and I'm definitely far more awake than I should be at 4:30 in the morning. Her eyes keep haunting me.

My breath is still hitching but slowly I force my own eyelids up, coercing my hands to wipe my face dry and rest stoutly in my lap. As if against a great weight, I make my head turn to travel about the articles of my room trying to assure myself of normalcy and indeed everything is as it should be. The window is cracked open, the screen is set firmly, my bedroom door is shut. The wardrobe is slightly ajar, my sweatshirt hanging over the inside corner of one of the doors, effectively stopping its smooth latch. Jeans are on the chair, transfiguration homework sprawled across my desk, stacks of Remus' old novels that don't sound like a complete loss sit in a pile near my bed on the floor and in the corner.

…

I want her to be here.

I want her to tell me that everything is alright even though it probably never will be.

I want to feel again the warmth that I felt from Mrs. Weasley on the night of the Third Task.

I want to be smothered and held against my will and feel foreign fingers in my hair.

I want this to be over with I just don't know how to make it all go away.

I can't take it anymore.

I just can't.

…

The fear and rush of icy adrenaline is settling in my marrow and I tremble with jitters that wrack me over and over again until even my blankets, my now nearly familiar blankets feel foreign. I force them back to my feet and slide my legs off my bed, bringing shaking hands to my waiting eyes. I rub at them agitatedly before pushing myself up and pacing the floor.

She had been crying. Hermione's recognizant tears had fallen freely down her face as the last of her bindings and the last of that wicked black haze dropped to the floor in defeat. I pulled her to her feet and her knees crumpled beneath her. She fell, as if in slow motion, into my arms. Her breath caught sharply as feeling tingled its way down her legs, as she flexed her ankles and regained her balance. Finally, she nodded her readiness and I spun around, still holding her by the waist as we headed for the door, only to have it opened by the single largest Death Eater I have ever seen in my life.

He was monstrous, easily six foot six and at least three hundred pounds. Even his wand was huge; it looked more like a branch in his thick, club-like hand. Silhouetted by the light of the hallway, all I could catch was a glimpse of his teeth behind the hot moisture of his breath. I felt a chill run down my frame and Hermione too trembled as she clung tighter to me. They were dirty, unbrushed and blacking in some places from decay but as he dropped his chin a reflection of light hit his eyes and I knew instantly that the pain of his teeth was obviously not a concern he bothered himself with. If I hadn't been looking for them, I would have missed them altogether. They were dark, nearly black themselves, and narrowed to a point of close, menacing inspection. As he saw me standing there with Hermione beside me he knew we planned escape and he took fast, thundering footsteps toward us…

My breath catches again and I stop at my wardrobe, swinging the door open and burying my face in my clothes. I try to suck in huge lungfuls of air, but they come only as panicked gasps. She had leaped behind me and grabbed me so ferociously when he had started towards us that I was nearly pulled off my feet so I grabbed her arms that circled my chest for balance. From within my wardrobe I feel a sudden weight fall across my shoulder blades and I jump in surprise. I can feel her grasp all the clearer until the weight rolls down to the floor and I realize it was my sweatshirt that had been draped over the closet door. I take in a shuddering breath, pull myself back and slam the door closed before leaning heavily against it, just as she had suddenly leaned on me. Choking back a sob, I force myself to my feet and stride blindly into the hallway, instinctually turning to the right and directly toward Remus' door. I only catch myself as my hand raises to face level to knock. Her arms stop me. Tearfully, I snatch my hand back and turn back to my room. Even wrapping my arms firmly around hers at my chest, she still pulled me backward; she bumped into the wall and let out a small squeak. I bumped into her and gasped all my own, grasping her hands even more firmly against my chest, thanking God that I could still feel her with me. Bringing my hands to my chest now, I feel only my thin t-shirt, a heaving chest, but no tensed, locked finger entangling with my night clothes; no Hermione, temporarily safe, using me as a shield between her and her captors.

I suck in a deep sniff desperate to quell my panic, but I can still feel the way her whispered pleas left a brush of wind against my ear. The desperation in her voice when she whimpered my name resounds all the clearer and I turn back to Remus' room desperate to have him to talk to.

I'm almost there when I drop my arm again; freezing, emotionless logic making me step away.

'_It was a dream_,' my mind tells me, 'n_othing more than an awful figment of your imagination._' I gulp in another breath, bracing one hand against a wall but worry still runs down my chest and into my stomach like slimy water from a broken pipe.

I can still feel it, feel the way her fingers clenched tighter as he came closer and closer, the way she shook against my shoulder blades and how my palms grew itchy and sweaty. I hastily pulled her sideways with me as we inched around the wall, avoiding the hulking form approaching us from the door, but unavoidably moving closer to try to make our escape.

I turn and raise my arm one more time before complete fear of rejection and self-loathing make me turn back for the last time. He could never understand. How could he? Just like Aunt Petunia, he'll tell me I'm being ridiculous and send me back to bed; I'll be none the wiser about Hermione and I'll only succeed in making myself look like a fool.

Two steps from my door, I stop and brace myself again. We hadn't made it, hadn't escaped. He slowed as he watched us circle the wall, his eyes followed keenly and when we were barely within arms reach, he shot forward, too fast for me to throw Hermione to the outside, and he grabbed me throwing me aside like an old bit of rubbish before he grabbed her and all I could hear was her screaming. She was crying and shrieking and calling to me for help but I couldn't. The throw had knocked me hard to the wall and the disorientation flooded through me faster than fear and I came to the very sickening conclusion that I couldn't help her. He was going to kill her or worse and I couldn't even see straight. I could hear her fists beating against his barrel like chest, thumping muffledly against his clothes and the way that her robes rumpled and swished as she fought his grasp. He must have pulled her hair far back because she shrieked again and her fists stopped sounding but I could tell she was still beside him. Suddenly, there was a loud thump and her voice stopped before she dropped forcefully to the floor. She fell toward me, an arm reaching out limply and brushing my fingers. I forced myself to crawl to her and slumped forward once I was close enough and then I wished I wasn't. Her face was covered in blood. With one hit he had broken her nose and the blood splayed everywhere. Her eyes were watering fiercely - by way of the knock or the pain I couldn't tell. Clearly dumbfounded, I did the only thing I could think to do; I started to crawl forward until I could lay overtop of her, using myself as a shield again but before I got far enough, he had picked me up by the scruff of my neck and thrown me aside again, forcing me to land solidly on my knees before slumping to my side. He had lunged for her again before I had any hope of standing in her defense and she screamed. It was the last I heard before jolting awake, sweating buckets and praying mercy in my bed.

I drop to my knees and press my face against the wood flooring, covering my head with my arms to muffle my own cries. I never want to hear her scream like that again but I can't get it out of my mind. It loops over and over again; I was so terrified to hear her like that and the feeling still courses through me. It felt so real. Frustrated, I flatten myself just the smallest bit to the floor and start crying harder than I have ever cried before. Drowning and wallowing in misery I nearly jump off the floor when a warm hand drops carefully on my back. Starting frightfully, I press myself as far back into the wall as possible as I throw my hands in front of me to ward off the Death Eater that will drag me off to witness Hermione's fate, to hear her screams closer and louder than ever, before my own torture begins afresh.

Warm fingers lace through one of my shaking hands while another grasps lightly at the underside of my elbow. Through my tears I can hear hoarse whispers and, knowing I've been caught, I drop my face to the side to avoid his gaze. I try to wipe my cheeks dry with my free hand but only succeed in wetting my whole face and another sob of frustration breaks loose. The hand under my elbow slides up to my shoulder while my other hand is brought down slowly to my knee. Embarrassed to the core, I pull my hand away and cover my face with it again, folding in on myself to try and hide some of the shame. '_And this is what you wanted two minutes_ _ago_,' I think scathingly to myself. I desperately want to crawl back to my room but know that if I actually do get away, it will only make things worse. Instead, I'm frozen to the spot and even when I do try to jerk away I find myself rooted, nearly frozen with agony. Before I know it, I find an arm wrapping tentatively around my shoulders and slowly pulling me sideways into a bracing hug. It takes time before I realize that he's talking to me, that he's shaking me slightly, trying to ask me what is wrong.

"Hermione," I finally choke out. "She was in trouble. I need to speak to her."

As if struck, he pulls back, holding me at arms length while I sob, burrowing myself further into a ball. "What did you see?" he asks forcefully, a hand groping my forehead to brush my scar, trying to judge a reaction of pain when he touches it but of course there is none. "Tell me what you saw!" he demands.

"They had her," I wail despite myself. "I think they were going to kill her." I drop my chin to my chest and cover my face with my hands when he lets them go. I don't know how but I know his arm is moving about in the air in the direction of his bedroom. I don't think much of it until a bright light burns behind my closed eyelids and I snap them open in time to catch him muttering the Patronus Charm.

"No," I call desperately. "Don't call them! It's not like that!" He stops just as a great force begins to extricate itself from his wand and he turns to me and says, "What are you talking about? If they're going to kill her we have to find her and get her someplace safe. There's no time to play around!"

"It wasn't-" I begin, some of the tears stopping, "it wasn't like that. Not a vision."

"Not a vision?" he asks obvious relief evident in his voice.

"No, just a dream," I admit ashamedly, but suddenly start crying again. "But it was so _real_," I whisper. "I want to talk to her. I need to know she's alright." I can hear Remus exhale a great breath and set his wand down at his side.

"We can't do that, Harry. You know this," he explains patiently taking one of my hands again.

"I don't care!" I nearly shout, far louder and much more forcefully than I had intended. "I just saw one of my best friends being held prisoner while they do God-knows-what to her. I want to hear her voice. I want her to speak to me. _Please,_ Remus, don't make me guess for the rest of the summer if she's all right or not."

"You just said yourself that she was fine-"

"It's not the same! I need to hear her!" I insisted.

"Harry, I can't-" he started again.

"Did you call my parents when you heard they'd died?" I demand without thought and am repaid by him releasing my hands and backing away just the slightest bit, staring at me with a mixture of anger, incredulity and buried underneath, understanding. A deep, humane, compassionate understanding. And through the blurred welling in my eyes I can see, as if against his better judgment, he nods yes.

"I didn't want to believe…"

"Then you know how I feel!" I insist again without waiting for him to finish. "Please, I want to call her. I need to know she's not hurt."

He pauses for a long time, seeming to search within my eyes and within himself. "Why don't you tell me about it first?" he tries and my eyes fall like stones to the floor. I bite at the corner of my mouth nervously and think about it. Do I really want to tell him about one of my deepest fears? Not really. Am I going to get any further with this conversation, this desperate plea, if I don't? Not a chance. I bring an arm up and around my face which falls onto my knees. There's a long silence that slowly seems to grow awkward as we sit there and finally I shake my head. There's more silence until he whispers, "Can it wait until morning?" and I raise my face just the smallest bit before he knows his answer.

I hear rather than see him swallow and I consciously mimic him. Finally, and with much difficulty he nods his head. "But there are rules," he amends before we get too far.

"Like what?" I ask eagerly.

"I do all the talking. She's not allowed to hear your voice. You can listen on the other phone," he placates as I'm about to protest. "It's the only way I can see us staying within Dumbledore's lines," and regretfully, yet relieved, I nod and start wiping at my face again and try to even out my breath.

"I'll be right back," he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze before leaving to fetch both telephones. I force myself to sit up straighter against the wall and I cross my legs in front of me. I keep forcing myself to breathe to a rhythm and by the time he comes back I'm feeling a little better. He hands me a tissue and I nod, releasing an unsteady breath. I wipe away more snot and grime as he flips through a small address book I didn't even know he had. It looks more like a pocket composition book with sticky-notes throughout it as letter tabs. As he seemed to find her phone number, why he had it I couldn't figure out but didn't bother to ask, he looked up at me one last time and said, "Are you sure you have to do this? If anybody finds out all three of us, no all five of us because of her parents, will be in danger. We'll all have to move. Dumbledore might not let you stay with me anymore. This could get very ugly very quickly, Harry and I just want to make sure that this is a decision that you're okay with before we go any further."

I pause and contemplate his logic. It's all true - of course it would be, but the thought of Hermione in danger like that… _She's probably fine right now and if we call her it could drive her to that situation_… yet part of my mind argues that one phone call can't destroy everything that horribly and that my fear needs to be appeased. _Haven't you been through enough torture already?_ it asks. _You have a right to check up on her, any other person would._ With a lessening hesitancy I nod and he passes a receiver over to me.

"All right, just remember, I do all the talking, you can only listen. If she hears you - which she won't," he says looking at me pointed as if to say, '_Don't even think about it,'_ "she'll just think you're someone else so don't bother," he repeats verbally. He appears to take a ragged breath of his own and his eyes deepen; for a moment I want to reach out and stop him from dialing, but my own need overwhelms his cautious hesitation and I settle for watching him silently. "What are we going to say?" he muses aloud. "It's still shy of five o'clock in the morning."

I pause and think but my mind is reeling so badly I can't think of anything. I shake my head again. He takes a steeling breath and dials the number under his finger. "Don't turn that on until I cough okay? That way she won't hear the other line pick up." I nod blankly, having seen the Dursleys do something of the same when talking to Aunt Marge.

I sat pressed against the wall and watched him struggle with apparently Hermione's father to get her on the line. I was actually quite impressed with the lie he had conjured and while part of my brain was voraciously waiting for him to give the signal, the other part wondered idly if his lying was a byproduct of Maraudering days, being a werewolf, or just a bolt of inspiration.

He convinced whichever of her parents he was talking to that one of her friends from Hogwarts was very sick and in the hospital and kept asking for her - not far from the truth I suppose - but it worked. Grudgingly it seemed, the voice on the other end stopped talking and Remus turned to me with a bracing smile on his face. '_She's coming,'_ the smile said, '_all this worrying will be over with soon.'_ I nod and look away, waiting a little more patiently than before until I hear the tiny voice of Hermione fill the hallway and all my mind. Relief spreads through me, exploding out to my limbs from my chest and I nearly start crying again. He catches a glimpse at me and must see my face reddening because he clasps my upper arm in support as he begins to feed the same story to her.

"It's little Christian Schwartz, do you remember him?" Remus asks her, recalling the name of one of his first years from Ravenclaw. "He was rather taken with you."

"I do," she says slowly, "but Professor-"

"Please, call me Remus-" he interjects from habit.

"Remus," she says cautiously, "but why are _you_ calling me to tell me this? Why not his family?"

"I'm an old friend of theirs," he lies smoothly and sneaks a glance my way.

"Oh," comes her voice from the other end. "All right then, do I need to talk to him or come visit? I have to be honest, I don't know if I'll be able to make it – Hogwarts students come from all over the country."

"You don't need to worry about that," he said. "He, umm," and here he paused to think. For a moment I wondered what he was thinking about; did he think that we were in danger? Did he think we'd been found out? What was he going to tell her? When could I listen to her myself? Finally he looked to me pointedly and cleared his throat. Eagerly I lifted my phone and waited for his to cough to turn it on. Finally clued into the conversation, he said cautiously, "He just had a bad feeling and wanted me to call you and see if you were all right." I look at him seriously – that was a little too close to the truth if we were trying to hide ourselves! He nods that he agrees but we both sit still and wait for her answer.

She takes a moment and I can practically see her giving herself a mental once-over: legs, arms, torso, head, tired but content (if confused), and worried but it seemed that would never leave.

"I'm fine, sir," she says. "A little down, I suppose, but fine."

I look down to the floor sadly, happy of course that she's well, but the depression of being sequestered from my friends, unable to see or speak to them wells up again. The train to Hogwarts will be leaving soon, I know, but not soon enough and even then I don't know if I'll be allowed to go. I close my eyes and force myself to be happy that she's all right. I force myself to keep listening to her steady, powerful voice.

"-been better, for sure," she tones quietly. "I've been much better since I heard we got Harry back but I can't be all the way better until after I see him again. Do you know, Professor, is he all right?"

I turn the receiver away from my mouth and rest my forehead on my free hand. She sounded rather upset and though I'd never admit it to anyone, seeing her upset has always made me upset.

"He's doing better," Remus assures slowly, squeezing my arm a bit to let me know that he's still there, that he's still backing me up. "What he went through this summer," he pauses and I wipe my hand across silent tears that have started to escape again, "what he went through was horrible; he's shown strength of mind and body and will that far surpasses anyone I know. He's not the same Harry we knew before he left Hogwarts, but one day he will be." I'm no fool. I know he's talking to me more than her; he's said it to me before, a few times in fact, but this time it feels… real, like the truth, as if I was strong in there, as if I am strong now, as if my life can belong to me again – not some lifeless, terrified shell of me that can't stand to get out of bed in the morning or step outside to get the mail every day for fear that they'll find me again, take me away and make sure that I shatter beyond the point of repair. I move the phone away entirely from me and almost immediately find myself buried in Remus's one armed hug trying my hardest to stifle all sounds.

"You've seen him?" I hear Hermione ask quickly, daring to be excited.

He hesitates only a millisecond before replying, "No, no I haven't." I can practically hear her deflate from across the hundreds of miles that separate us. "We've talked about him at meetings, though. He's on all our minds."

"Do you know where he is?" she asks desperately. _How did this conversation turn from her well-being to mine?_

"No," he says sadly, hugging me tighter, "I don't."

The line goes silent for a while as we all try to rein in emotions, try to figure out exactly what we want from ourselves and each other.

"Can I send you a letter for him?" she asks finally, but behind the hope there's disappointment. She knows the answer is no.

"I'm afraid not," he confirms. "It would just be too dangerous, for every one." Slowly I raise the receiver back to my cheek to listen fully. "You've always been a good friend to him," he assured. "He knows that you're worried for him; I'm sure that he's worried for you too. And I'm sure that not being able to be with you and Ron is one of the hardest things he's dealing with this summer but you'll all be together again soon," he said. "Things will look up. We just have to be patient."

With a grudging agreement, she replied, "I know, I just wish that we didn't have to be separated. I really miss him."

"He misses you too," he said honestly. He forced a change in his tone to be more purposeful and said, "I'm sorry to have woken you and your parents tonight, Hermione. It was nice to speak with you again and I'm glad to hear that you're doing better."

"It's no trouble, Professor," she said a bit uneasily. She knew that she was about to be hung up on.

"I better let you get back to sleep and I'm sure Christian will want to know that you are fine."

"Oh, yes," she exclaimed, "send him my best?" she asked.

"I will," he replied. "Goodnight, Hermione, and thank you."

"Sure. And Professor?" she paused.

"Yes?"

"If you do see Harry, or if there is a way to get a message to him, will you let him know that I miss him and that I hope he's doing better?" She almost sounded as if she were tearing up.

"Of course I will," he replied.

"He's… he's my best friend, Professor. He's like a brother that I never had. Could you… could you tell him that I love him and want to hear from him as soon as we can?"

I know he's looking down on me even though my eyes are closed with her words, holding onto them firmly, not letting them fade from my memory. I want nothing more than to shout the same thing to her in the telephone but know that it could be disastrous if I do. Instead, I set the receiver on the floor and cover my face with my hands, pulling my knees to my chest and nodding as if to tell Remus to continue.

"You have my word, Hermione. And as soon as we hear from him, you'll know it too, I swear."

"Thank you professor," she says softly and hesitantly says, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Hermione, and thank you."

"Your welcome," she replies a touch uncertainly and together we hang up our phones.

We sit for a long while, Remus and I. Not speaking, not moving, I didn't even bother feeling for a time. I just let it all soak in – Hermione was fine and she missed me. She wanted to hear from me, she'd be better when we were together. The dream still flooded my mind, but her voice, rich with worry and anticipation to hear about me drowns it out some and I breathe much easier than I did before. Finally, I sigh and raise my head to find him looking at me, eyes dark with worry and brows knit with concern.

"She'll be fine," he says carefully. "Will you be okay?"

Not looking up into his face, I nod haphazardly and pull my shirt sleeve across my face to make sure it's dry across the board. "Thank you," I say hoarsely but I can't force myself to look into his eyes. I can see him nod from the edge of my vision and we sit there for just a moment more. Finally he nudges me and whispers, "I don't know about you, but I think I'm up for a while now. Do you want some ice cream? We still have vanilla and chocolate chip."

-

"Professor?" George asks, bringing me back to the present.

"Yes? Oh, sorry," I say lamely and bring a hand to my eyes to rub at their weariness. "It's a long story I'm afraid. Perhaps for another time."

* * *

Closing notes: So it doesn't cover all that I had hoped for, but it's a chapter after almost a year hiatus. It's time for an update! 

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, read, checked back, re-read, and not given up on me! Special thanks to: AP Mom, alainn-chaser, living-is-easy-with-eyes-closed, Kate, xkohleyesx (I missed HP4 at IMAX! It hurt my soul… a LOT!), leggo-my-legolas, tsu, doralinda, NyxCrawler, zafaran, jmljasmine, mimiheart, savannah142, jkh1, DevonMarie, Marjorie, RaiseYourVoice, NiennaTru, Surplus Imagination, thehellogoodbyeofdarkdawn, Megsy, Kath87, Leonew, rosiegirl, appaloosagal1415, Earthmom, goodxTORNxevil, TeahLeafs (and no, I'm actually against the Remus/Tonks but that's JK's road; I'm just putting her there as an Order member and a friend), Dianne, Melindaleo, and reading-rider!!

Congratulations to Megsy and thehellogoodyofdarkdawn for snagging our latest chapter title "Here You Me (May Angels Lead You In)" by Jimmy Eat World! Look for yourselves in future chapters! And if I haven't mentioned this one, Congratulations to Leonew for snagging "HalfLife" by Duncan Sheik! Look for yourself as well!

Wow, it never ceases to amaze me how many of you read and review! I really appreciate it and it humbles me very much – in the best way of course!

I'm starting on the next chapter now actually and as much as I love your posts of "UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE!" (God I love them! They make me sooo happy and laugh so much that you like my work) and I love to comply, please don't be too hard on me if it takes awhile (like this time) which none of you have been, by the way. Thank you for that! Right now, finding a job so that I can eat next week is a high priority but I'll do what I can to get back in the swing of writing.

Thank you all again for your love, your thoughts, your comments, and for dropping in for a read!

If there is a question you've had for me that I haven't answered, please email me and I'll get back to you timely – I swear!

Happy Holidays everybody! I'm off to devour a hot dog.

tinitinuviel :D


	19. Heaven Forbid

_April 30, 2007_

_Disclaimer_: I can't teach my dog to play dead; do you really think that I could have invented all of this gloriousness?

_Author's Note_: Hey all you beautiful people out there in TV Land! It's been awhile so I'm not going to ramble... just a few quick notes:

Watch out for some questionable language if you are under 13, you have a kid who will be reading this who is under 13, or you are VERY sheltered – that George Weasley! For Shame!!

I know a fair few readers are having some difficulty following my Dan Brown-esque point-of-view shifts, so since this chapter switches a fair few times, here is the order:

Remus, circa approx 10 days ago  
Remus, present day  
3rd person with Bill, Charlie and Mollie, present day  
Remus, present day

With no more ado, Chapter 19!

* * *

It was later that morning with Harry, over a bowl of lumpy oatmeal and warm orange juice that I realized how unhappy he was. It was at that time, after that horrible nightmare of Hermione's capture, when I began to recognize that my gentle, passive approach to his recovery wasn't working. He needed his friends. He needed someone his own age that understood him thoroughly as a person to be with. Not some old long-lost family acquaintance that had only really known him for a few months at the end of one school year. How had I agreed to thinking that my taking him in would work? 

I began to formulate my argument in my head to Professor Dumbledore – how much more useful their company would provide and how much more willing he would be to open up to them. Yet the more I thought on it, the more I realized that he would never agree. He would insist that I was doing well enough, that I just needed to have more confidence in myself and wait it out a little longer. But I was worried. Sure Harry talked to me a bit more during the day instead of just the quiet questioning of "Sugar please?" "Have you seen my Defense book?" or my personal favorite, "Do you mind if I just go to bed?" He had started to ask about his parents, about the friendship between them, Sirius and myself. He would ask if I had news of other people, Hogwarts and the like. But he would only ask. He would never reply or join into the stories that I would tell because they would become just that – stories; one sided conversations that could last between five minutes and any number of hours.

He needed someone other than me and Dumbledore would never allow it. Perhaps against my better judgment, the repercussions of which I have still yet to see, I decided to sidestep the Headmaster; I was calling Hermione again that night.

"Really Professor, we don't have much else but time here," George replied indicating the quiet room surrounding them.

"I'd rather not right now," I say somberly. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Fred says; he must be reading the depressive look on my face because neither of the Weasley twins has given up on an item of interest this quickly and easily.

"Are you at least going to tell them that he's here?" George asks before Fred shushes him.

"No, it's all right," I say, putting up a hand to stop Fred. "I don't know. I'd like to but I'm not sure that right now is the best time. Perhaps in a few days."

"I don't think its right to keep it from Ron," George challenges again.

"George, that's enough!" Tonks says vehemently.

"I know," I say to him, "and I fully intend to bring them both to meet Harry when he's a bit more adjusted to how his life is now, after he's worked some things out."

"How long do you think that will take?" Fred asks diplomatically before George can spout something less than charming.

"As long as he needs. He's been getting a little better as of late, but I'm going to be honest, it's been a slow trek thus far and he really hasn't improved much. I wouldn't be surprised if most of his behavior changes have happened in a last minute ditch attempt to be kept far away from here."

"If he didn't want to be here, then why did you bring him anyway?" George asks. His questions are proving tough pills to swallow, but there's nothing quite like a taste of one's own medicine so I take in a final, steadying breath and reply, "Because it's what we agreed to. It's something that he needs that I don't feel I can provide for him myself."

"So your pussying out?" he replied snarkily.

In my present, cloudily-minded state, I know that this is a baiting question that is best to avoid at all costs because no matter what I can think to say, I'm sure he'll just use it against me soon enough. Tonks and Fred seem to cotton on to this fact and Fred offers a-non-too-friendly thwack in the arm to his brother while Tonks takes me by the arm and declares it high-time to eat. "The eggs are to die for, Remus, come on. I'm sure Fred will keep a weather eye on young Harry for a quick hour now, won't you Fred?" He replies with a "Yes, 'm," and presses his brother back into a chair with a finger pointed at his chest in a very Molly-esque "move and regret it for the rest of life" gesture.

Somewhat numbly, and against some of my more mature, adult thoughts, I turn to George before Tonks can pull me half way across the room and say to him, reverting back to my professorial days, "I've been doing what I think is best, Mr. Weasley. I don't think there's much I need to say to you to remind you of how distressed he was staying in your home for the few days your family played host. His fear is easing, but slowly and his memories are proving just as painful as when they were being formed.

"If I knew a spell to make him all better don't you think I would have used it weeks ago? If I knew a potion to make him spill his darkest and most locked away secrets, don't you think I would have given it to him to open him to healing? The anger you feel now I have been feeling for a month. The inability of his friends to visit him is as much for their safety as it is for Harry's peace of mind. He's been depressed, insomniac, afraid, and in a constant state of mortification since he arrived at my home. Do you really think that bringing in his best friends to witness his darkest hour would turn him around so completely? I know they will help, George, but they need to arrive on Harry's terms. On a good day. They need to be prepared for the onslaught they will face, just like you may encounter this morning and I don't know if they are ready for that yet. I don't know if Ron will be able to handle that pain and be in Harry's presence at the same time without upsetting him and right now, keeping Harry away from being upset is the primary goal. It's how he's healing and it will all be for naught if they react in a negative manner or no manner at all. Right now all he needs is understanding, he doesn't need another war," and with that Tonks tugs on my arm again and she pulls me toward the hallway door.

"Professor?" Fred calls.

"Yes?" I sigh, not feeling keen on any more conversation, just a nap, or a bottle of pain pills.

"What sort of 'onslaught' are we talking about here?"

* * *

"It'll be all right, mum," Charlie said coaxingly for about the seventh time. 

"I know it will!" she snapped frustratedly and immediately Bill was pulling him away from the kitchen by the arm.

"Lay off," he whispered fiercely. "You're not making it any better."

"I'm just trying to get her to calm down," he retorted.

"But you're not. Just let her alone for awhile. She just needs space and she can't have that if you're hovering like a Siamese Crystalback or whatever it is that you're studying now."

At first Charlie huffed but shortly deflated, knowing his brother was right. She needed to work out her decision in her own mind and come to terms with the consequence she had accrued for herself. To the unknowledgeable observer, one would think she was perfectly fine. Her clothes were spotlessly pressed, her hair perfectly arranged, not a strand out of place. Her movements were fluid, solid and distinctly purposeful. But having watched and learned from their mum for over twenty-five years, they knew that this was when she was most upset.

She was bustling about Remus's kitchen, washing dishes, settling place mats and wiping the counters. As she transferred to the living room, she pressed the cushions back into place, straightened Remus's ancient and hole-ridden blanket that served as an afghan. Mantels and cabinets were dusted; even the carpet was vacuumed where he'd clearly sat in his wolf form only eight and a half measly hours ago.

Bill wanted to stop her just as much as Charlie did, but after suffering a house of six boys that was perpetually in a state of disarray, cleaning was how she straightened out the problems in her life, literally and figuratively. It gave her time to think, time to put everything in its proper place and arrange items that suddenly jumped out at her unexpectedly and demanded to be reckoned with.

When Charlie first announced that he wanted to study dragons, their parents had laughed – it was a child's dream, they were convinced, nothing more. But on the night the owl came in the mail saying he'd been accepted into a _very_ prestigious internship in Siberia on the same day the twins and Ginny had all but demolished the house in a prank war, they all sat down at a spotless supper table in a positively _gleaming_ house. The living room all but sparkled and if she had made it outside to add a new coat of paint they were sure the house would have glittered. They all sat to eat in eerie silence of their mum's behavior and could practically feel her itching to leave the table to do the dishes and start on the garden and barn. The cleanliness held up until after Charlie left nearly two weeks later and all those caught disturbing the peace of it were sternly, almost fanatically scolded.

'_Poor George_,' he mused over the memory. '_He really put his foot into that one_.'

Both Bill and Charlie knew Remus would be angry and they were both prepared to deal with a little shouting. They just hadn't really expected him to storm off so unmistakably furious like that. They both crossed their fingers and glanced at each other nervously hoping that Tonks would come back with good news soon. But as the morning progressed and no sign of their multicolored friend pronounced itself, Bill made a daring move and stepped into the living room where his mother was scrubbing forcefully at a water ring on the obviously, second-hand coffee table.

"Mum," Bill ventured to ask her.

"What, dear?" she said stiffly, waging war on the dastardly ring.

Picking up a rag himself, he set to work on other one not terribly far away from the one she was attacking. "Honestly, are you okay? I know he didn't react the way any of us expected, or rather, far beyond what we expected. But I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Of course he did," she stated matter-of-factly. "Who wouldn't want to? We kept him from his child when he was needed most. Besides, it's not like he was shouting at us, he just stormed out," but that angry, betrayed look on his face as he drove away was too much of a reminder, and far more telling than even the harshest down-turning could have been. "I'm fine, dear," she said firmly. "I just want a little time to myself – and this house needs a strong dose of TLC."

With something not quite an amused smile, more of a concerned grimace on his face, Bill stood to leave her to her scrubbing and said, "We've got your back, Mum, Charlie and I. We did the right thing, by them both. And Harry is proud of you, I know he is," and as she paused in her work and sat back to look at the very distinguished man he had become (horrible ponytail and earring or not), he patted her shoulder and walked quietly back to the foyer and out the front door with Charlie, intent on sitting on the front porch and doing not much of anything else.

* * *

"You shouldn't have told them about that, you know," Tonks admonishes quietly as I lean against the wall of the lift on the way up to the cafeteria. "You have no idea how they'll react to Harry's moods, or he to them for that matter." 

"I just wanted to prepare them, that's all," I say. "I wish somebody would have warned me."

"What are they like, really? None of us have been exposed to it as much as you have."

"It's kind of difficult to explain. It's sort of like, meeting a person whose sorrow goes far deeper than the surface, deeper than the very pit of the stomach and no matter how hard you try, no matter what tricks you use you know they'll never crack a smile for you. They won't even say a simple 'Good morning,' because they don't feel there's anything good about it and there's nothing to be to make it that way." The lift doors open and we step out into the corridor, Tonks leading the way to the cafeteria. "It's not just that either; it's that, he feels that even if I can make him smile, or distract him for a short time, he knows it won't last more than an hour or so and then he'll feel even worse. The pain of the loss will seem exponentially worse than it was before he had those good moments. It's draining," I finish, sighing defeatedly.

"I didn't realize how hard this was on you," she comments. "I knew you were having a little trouble getting him to speak out, but I didn't think it traveled so deep and was bothering you so much."

"You've never lived with a terminally depressed person before, have you?" I ask.

"No," she replies softly. "Have you? Before Harry, I mean."

"Yes, for a period of time. I'd rather not speak on it," I reply steadily, but there is a deeper disappointment in my voice that I wish hadn't come out, yet she doesn't seem keen on challenging it. "It's hard." I finally finish. "It's hard living every day of your life, every waking second and most of your sleeping ones worrying over the fact that nothing you do makes a difference. That all of your best efforts have been for naught." With a slight snort I add, "There's really nothing quite like becoming depressed because you can't lift somebody else's depression."

By now we've reached the cafeteria and are standing in the midst of a crowd of jostling people, staff and visitors alike, grabbing for a quick meal before heading back to their duties.

"Well, I don't quite know what makes you happy, my dear lycan, or how to bolster your spirits, but at least let me offer to buy you the best breakfast a hospital can offer," Tonks says solemnly, adding with a hint of playfulness, "perhaps an ice cream as well, and a nice large helping of an old, large-eared friend," and, stealing a glance at her, I have to laugh softly as she makes her ears grow out until they each fill the sides of face completely.

* * *

_Closing Notes_: No beating around the bush on this one – this is MUCH shorter than I wanted it to be but you've all waited long enough and I'm frankly tired of rehashing over the next segment so that'll come next time. It's 65 written and the rest is firmly lodged in my brain so with fingers crossed it won't take me too terribly long to get it out, in my time line terms. Wish I could say in the next few days but let's face it, we all that's not the way I roll. :D 

Congratulations are in order for one of our MANY new friends, _mangoyummy_ for scoring the song, "Stand" by Rascal Flatts! Yes, it does fit quite well – It served as a staple of life for me for about six months so I knew it was prime real estate for "Sleeping." Congratulations again and look for yourself in the future!

Special _Super Thanks!_ go out to: _splitbeak_, _RaiseYourVoice_, _doralinda_, _Melindaleo_, _Lupin123_, _living-is-easy-with-eyes-closed_, _savannah142_, _Ava Monroe_, _AP Mom_, _Kala Raish_, _Earthmom_, _tsujton_ (twice!), _NiennaTru_, _Lalaitha_, _AquaRias_ (you used to go by a different name, didn't you?), _Megsy_, _Riker15_ (thanks!), _mangoyummy_, and of course, _leggo-my-legolas_!

You guys are continuously supporting my writing, my weird style and my wacky plot and I cannot thank you enough for everything! Guess I'll just have to keep writing!

Love and miss you all,

tini :D


	20. Airplanes

July 21, 2010

Disclaimer: It all belongs to the beautiful Ms. Rowling.

A/N: I apologize if it doesn't flow just so or if the grammar is sketchy. Love you all!

* * *

Suddenly I know that I'm sleeping.

Strangely, I can hear the conversations happening around me. Healer Rainer and Kevin are worried and sorry that they didn't believe Remus and me. Remus is angry that they doubted our seriousness. George is angry that Ron and Hermione don't know that I'm here. Fred and Tonks are worried that I'll be awoken by Remus and George's arguing. Remus baits George into guilt by reminding him that the Weasleys couldn't help me either.

Suddenly I'm glad that I'm sleeping otherwise they'd know how downtrodden they are making me feel. It doesn't help that Kevin has come back in and has started interviewing Fred and George on my one day at the Weasley house. One day. And what a horrible day it was too. I spent all of my month with Remus wondering if they were angry with me for leaving them, that is until I saw Ron again, and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Charlie. They wouldn't have done me any favors if they didn't care for my presence any more.

If only I could have told them how every shadow and dark corner of the Burrow reminded me of crouching Death Eaters and of dark hexes spiraling toward me from nowhere. If only I could have told them how every creak of a floor board or stair reminded me of the heavy approaching steps of new tortures, pain and derision. How, with six people wandering the house, setting off joke fireworks and shouting between rooms, however amiably, the walls seemed to close in and familiar, friendly faces turned fiendish and frightening, all pleasant motives changed to dark deeds and threatening statures. How all I wanted was to hole up in the bath tub with the door locked or to go pealing away from the house in the dark of night and never stop to look back, maybe then I wouldn't have felt so guilty.

I wish Fred and George wouldn't talk about my embarrassingly short stay with them; it was humiliating enough living it the first time but to now see it from their perspective brings fresh shame to the entire situation.

* * *

"The night we brought Harry home to the Burrow had been a hard day for every one," George began. "Fred, Ron, Ginny and I were sitting in our room late at night talking about how different Harry seemed. How physically he was beat up, nose still swollen and dark from what looked like a painful break, stomach littered in shades of yellow and puce (most of which we'd only managed to glimpse from his awkward sleeping positions in the Hogwarts hospital wing). He also had and a small hobble that accentuated how hunched over he walked and suggested at another break or at least a sprain.

He looked great considering the circumstances. Otherwise, he looked like he'd just come out of the losing side of a bull fight and was promptly struck by a bus. His humor had changed too. He wasn't interested in any of the things we tried to distract him with. No game, joke, new invention, or bogey hex could bring even a glimmer or hint of happiness to his features. He was too preoccupied with the memories he could see, and the terror that we couldn't.

Mum sat him down at the kitchen table as soon as we'd arrived home. The trip took an exceedingly long time. For some reason, Harry refused to go near the Floo in The Three Broomsticks which we intended to take back to The Burrow. When dad tried to lead him up to the hearth, he pushed his way back, forcing chairs, tables, even Ron and Ginny in front of him so that he couldn't be dragged into it.

"Harry, calm down," dad had said. "What's the matter? It's just the Floo. You've taken it before; there's nothing to be afraid of."

But the look on his face said differently. Harry was downright terrified and didn't care that we all saw it."

"For me, that really hit home," Fred cut in. "We've seen Harry run headlong into some pretty dangerous stuff more than a few times-"

"-and seen him blindsided by something no one expected-" George dropped in.

"-but his being that upset really told everyone that, if we tried to force him into it, we would probably break him." Fred and George were silent for a moment while the memory replayed itself and they contemplated the gravity of all of their choices from that moment on before George continued.

"In the end we walked over to the Hogsmeade train station, Harry's bag hanging over my shoulder, light and virtually empty except for a ratty set of clothes, a toothbrush from Madame Pomfrey, and a book with a chocolate frog from Hermione. Even after our tickets had been purchased and we'd waited for nearly an hour for the train to arrive, he was still hesitant about getting aboard. In the end, mum sent us onto the train first under the guise of finding a compartment for the whole family and then stood with him alone, coaxing and gently guiding him toward the train despite his obvious reluctance. We shamelessly gawked and gaped through the window at how mothering that would have sent us to an early grave from embarrassment, slowly wheedled him into hesitant submission. We lost sight of him as they boarded and silently agreed when he appeared at our doorway to say nothing of the rosy, blotchy stains in his cheeks, only to invite him into a game of his choosing and treat him as if he had only been to use the loo and nothing more. Inwardly though, we all breathed a sigh of relief; it had taken so long we were worried the train might have left without them.

There were very few people on the train and as much as we tried to keep up a lively conversation to hide the vacuum, Harry remained withdrawn and stared almost exclusively out the window. For the first part of the trip, mum sat with him and held his hand tightly; you had to be blind to miss how nervous and upset he was. After our trip was nearly half over though, she whispered something in his ear and left our car with dad to go sit in another. Maybe she thought he would feel more comfortable if she wasn't there; perhaps it was a thought that we could cheer him up if we had more freedom of speech and action. Whatever she thought, it didn't work out. He couldn't be deterred from his staring for any extended period of time and his hands clenched and crushed each other in his lap, seemingly without his own notice. There were a few moments where he turned to us and attempted to engage but he couldn't bring himself to spit out more than a couple miniscule words. After what felt like very short minutes, he would turn away again, either to stare out the window or close his eyes, probably pretending to be somewhere else.

Passing through King's Cross station went considerably better than I thought it would. When I fully expected another episode like the one in The Three Broomsticks, he instead allowed himself to be calmly lead away from the platform through the barrier and to a waiting car by mum. His passivity was only an outward gesture though. He had his eyes tightly closed the whole time, discreetly hugging mum's arm as if he were a vice grip and spent the whole of the walk taking in one long, deep breath after another.

The car ride home was much like the train with all of us straining for conversation and he sitting alone, quietly tense and waiting for normalcy to kick back in.

When we finally pulled into the drive and stepped out of the car, mum asked him if he was tired from the journey and wanted to take a nap before a late supper. When he shook his head no, she insisted that he sit at the kitchen table and she would fix him something to eat. He looked keen on disinclining her request but didn't look like he could bring up any words to express his feelings so he sat down with a sly, slightly defeated look aimed at Ron. I didn't notice if Ron made any reply, but he must have because Harry shook his head and, after propping his elbows on the table, rested his face in his hands. Mum shooed us away then. The last we saw, she was offering him tea and biscuits, homemade rolls, just about anything close at hand. He declined most but held a biscuit in his hand for good measure. Then she spelled her knitted blankets off the couch to hang in the doorways so we couldn't see in anymore. After that we couldn't hear anything else either. Mum's Silencing Charms have always been first rate when she's in a worrying mood.

That was when we headed upstairs for some sibling discussion time. Mostly we talked about how hard it was to see Harry so despondent and tried to figure out what had happened that was so horrible that he wouldn't even look at us for most of the day. His agoraphobia was another hot topic of discussion although Fred and I feared that our guesses were far closer to the truth than any of us would have liked or felt comfortable with.

Later, when we came down from our room for supper, Harry looked even more worn down than before. His hair, much longer and scragglier than I'd ever seen it hung over his face while his head was hung low and although his shoulders tightened as if preparing himself to look up at our faces, he never forced his head to move. As Ginny passed behind him on her way to her seat, she spied a wad of tissues grasped firmly in his hand which lay equally firmly in his lap and she gestured to us to fill us in. Mum gave her a warning look at that and Dad reached over to pat Harry on the shoulder, trying to bolster up some of his courage, I suppose. He nodded at that but otherwise only brought his face up enough so that he could see his place-settings. While mum laid plates of food across the length of the table, everything from roast beef and boiled potatoes to corn and fruit salad, she placed a simple bowl of chicken soup in front of Harry and quietly commented, "Here you are, dear. Maybe this will calm your stomach, ease your nerves a bit." Again, Harry looked down to his lap, almost as if he were ashamed.

"Are you sick, Harry?" Ron asked concernedly. Of all the topics we had talked about upstairs as to his current mood, Harry being ill hadn't been among them. He shook his head though so we were left to wonder what could be bothering him. He's never been nervous at our house before and none of us could figure a reason why he would be all of a sudden. Ginny confirmed mum's words though; she hadn't missed the way his hands twisted in his lap or how his feet kept hooking and unhooking themselves from the legs of his chair like the rest of us had. When most of dinner had passed and he had barely managed a few spoonfuls, all of which were, regrettably, closely watched by all of us, mum suggested again that he go up and take a nap or simply retire for the night. He nodded slowly and cautiously excused himself from the table; we were all fairly silent as we listened to his muted thumping up the stairs to Ron's room and the nearly silent click of the door latch before anyone dared speak.

"What's going on? What did you talk about while we were upstairs?" Ron asked mum after a moment.

Solemnly, mum replied, "Nothing dear; he never said a word.""

* * *

I had trudged up the stairs slowly, trying to maintain some semblance of outer and inner calm. Really, all I wanted was to sprint up the stairs and slam the door, block out all intruders. It took a great deal of strength to not prop a chair underneath the doorknob of Ron's room. After all, how would I hide that when he finally came upstairs to go to bed himself?

I sighed exasperatedly – I would have to face Ron tonight. True, I've wanted nothing more than to see him and Hermione again, all of the Weasleys, but Ron would want to _know._ Know things that I wasn't ready to talk about and, being Ron, he wouldn't relent until I gave him answers or shouted at him and I didn't want either. Instead I did as Mrs. Weasley had suggested and lay down on the spare bed, still fully clothed and although I couldn't sleep, it gave me time to think over the day. Fruitlessly I tried to analyze my fear, calm myself, and make up fake stories to appease this most wonderful of families. In the end, I let my face lay on my pillow and my eyes water, remembering how I still _didn't_ feel safe in the kitchen downstairs, crying harshly into Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, both mother and father rubbing my back, trying to ease my terrible anxiety.

How could I not feel safe? How could all of the terrible things that I'd encountered this summer not fade even slightly under the warmth of their hands? How could my mind betray me so deeply, urging me that Death Eaters were around the corners, behind the china cabinets and mantelpieces, telling me that they were watching me and if I didn't watch for them, I would lose every member of the family I loved so dearly?

"With a great jolt through my heart I heard a tremendous _bang!_ from below and a clatter of dishes. Raised voices drifted upward and I heard Mr. Weasley beginning to shout. Fear and adrenaline flooded my system and I leapt from my bed, my back to Ron's window, hands groping for the latch while my eyes stayed steady on his door, waiting for the knob to turn. It was a moment before my hearing began to register and I understood Mr. Weasley's shouting to be at Fred and George. "No fireworks in the kitchen, boys! Look at what you made Ginny do in her fright!" Another moment and nervous, mischievous giggles escaped and I could see in my mind Ginny glowering playfully at her brothers, warning of retribution as if it were actually happening before me.

Tearing my eyes from Ron's tarnished brass doorknob to glance at the clock, I knew that Ron would be up soon and so I forced myself to clear my mind of all of its riotous thoughts which eventually turned to simply thinking of less terrifying things. I was grateful that I could crawl back into bed, drying my face from the cold sweat that had broken out, flip my pillow over, and resettle before the door opened and Ron came in. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, even when he whispered my name, came over to check and see if I was sleeping or ignoring him. Thankfully for me he bought my act and left me alone.

My blissful deception wasn't to last however. Just like every night before this that I spent in the infirmary, the nightmares descended, only this time, they were louder. The pounding feet on the stairway echoed and shook the floor boards. The shouting in the hallways crescendoed and fell as doors were thrown open and closed, rooms torn apart in a frantic search for this now frail version of me. As the door to Ron's room burst open and dozens of Death Eaters exploded inward, I sat up, panicked and shaking; breathing hard and eyes darting about the room, settling on the tauntingly closed entrance, waiting for it's movement.

Ron woke nearly as quickly as I and didn't hesitate to ask me what was wrong. After calming my breath a tick, I reached up to rub at my eyes which were stinging with exhaustion and fear. I shook my head, ashamed that I had let myself be suckered into believing that Death Eaters had actually tracked me down so quickly. I lay back in bed again, turning away from Ron, even when he repeatedly called my name.

"I'll go get Fred and George," he even threatened at one point when I still refused to speak but his threat was empty. Instead he said, "You can tell me anything, you know. You're my best mate and I won't tell any one else if you don't want me to." But while his sentiment felt good it didn't ease me and I stayed quiet, silently trying to convince myself that my world was not going to end in a crooked, colorful house in the depths of the country while I was knee deep in a family of still six.

I laid there for hours, glancing at Ron's Cannons clock every few minutes and feeling a little more despairing every time a half hour clicked by. When two-thirty in the morning arrived, I decided to go downstairs. Perhaps a change of scenery would help me sleep; perhaps a biscuit or a glass of water would ease my frantic mind.

In the end, neither worked so I settled onto the couch in front of the hearth, trying to ignore that I had spent much of the last month in this way and closed my eyes. The noises of downstairs were much different than those from the third level – the scraping of tree branches were replaced with the rustling of thousands of tiny brush twigs scrittching on the paneling. A breeze whistled in from under the kitchen doorway and windows. Crumbling ashes and logs in the hearths shifted and coughed on the stones. The stairways creaked with a phantom weight. Even the wind chimes squealed against each other like keys forcing into a lock, deadbolts sliding back dangerously to let in the unspeakable demons of our waking world.

I sat up again in a sweat, pressing my hand firmly against my chest, willing my heart to stop hammering with such fervor. Sound rushed in my ears skittering, squeaking, whispering, and hunting until a voice drowned them all out.

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, all too awake. "What are you doing down here at this time of night? You should be up in bed."

Without saying anything, I turned to the clock on the mantelpiece. 3:10. My heart sank at that. I had slept for all of fifteen minutes.

"Having trouble sleeping?" he inquired. I couldn't bring myself to answer, just breathe. He crossed the room in an allaying but deliberate fashion. "Bad dreams?" Reluctantly, I nod. "You _are_ safe here," he stresses as he sits down in the chair near the couch. "The floo has been closed off; extra wards were placed on the house. We may not have all the repelling charms of Hogwarts, but we have enough to fool most any one. The Aurors came by and made sure of that."

I nod noncommittally at that, trying on one hand to convince myself of his truth, on the other to just appease him and go back to nursing my own fears without the mortification of another's presence.

"Yes sir, there are no stronger wards out there that can be put up in such a short time; Kingsley said so himself. Only used the toughest charms out of the most advanced and ancient books; even added a special family protection charm with Molly just before we left to get you. Only a fool would come by here and try to break in." I fell quiet then. Charms from the most advanced and ancient books – that meant they could be tracked down, researched for counters. It was only a matter of time…

Mr. Weasley must have been trying to interpret my facial expression, incorrectly at that, because he said, "You are family to us, all of us. You have been since Fred and George pulled those bloody bars off your window three years ago. I'm afraid while their intentions aimed for freedom you were really just pulled into the captive madhouse of The Burrow." He patted my arm and I smiled more inwardly than outwardly. "The spell works the same, blood relations or not; you've nothing to worry about." I nod again, but feel far less reassured than I had been only minutes before.

"Is something else troubling you?" he asks, still observing me closely. "Something you haven't told us about yet? Please don't feel closed off from us, Harry. If there is anything at all bothering you, we want to know so we can help you." Thinking dismally on how terrified I am of being captured again and the fear that had overwhelmed me when I was taken the first time, I can't quite bring myself to think of anything else and am forced to shake my head 'no.' "Well, I'm glad for that," he comments kindly. "Would you like a cup of tea? I couldn't sleep myself and was just coming down to get one. Helps to put my mind at ease." Feeling restrained, I nod and give a pithy smile of agreement.

We sit at the kitchen table for quite a while after that but he insists on retiring before four rolls around and walks me back up to Ron's room with a promise that I'll see him again at breakfast. I didn't know whether to be elated or depressed.

* * *

"I didn't hear anything from Harry for the rest of the night after he had gone up to bed," George continued to tell Kevin, his quill still scratching quickly, not as fast Rita Skeeter's Quick Quotes, but fast nonetheless. "You heard him come down the stairs and then go back up with dad, didn't you?" he asks Fred and he replies affirmatively.

"I went down to the landing, the one that we spy on people from," he said, addressing George. Back to Kevin he explained, "You can see the living room and hear pretty well, but it's hard for others to see you unless they know where to look. He messed about in the kitchen for a short bit before coming back in and laying down on the couch. There were a few times that I thought he had fallen back asleep, but then he would shift or take a breath and I just knew that he was awake.

I waited awhile before I did anything. I kept telling myself that whatever he was thinking about would blow over and he would crash. There were a few times that I almost went down to talk to him, but I couldn't get mum's words out of my head. 'He's been through a horrifying ordeal, loves. I imagine he's rather embarrassed about the whole thing, and is obviously still very upset. None of us can ever dream of what he's been through; we'll have to be very careful when interacting with him.'

When I couldn't sit idly by anymore and tear myself apart with "Can I or can't I help him?" I went and got dad. I figured he's always been good at cracking us open, maybe Harry would respond to him as well. That and, you know, he's seen his fair share of horrors working at the Ministry and since he started helping Dumbledore with some… research…" he hedged, "well, I figured that he would be the best of any of us to try and get through to him.

I felt bad about waking Dad up, but he insisted that he'd been restless anyway and that it was no matter. I still wanted to go down and talk to Harry myself but I really didn't know what to say. We'd tried to open him up all day and nothing had worked – we hadn't even put a dent in his shell. There was one time when I thought he might have said something to us on the train, but instead he just took a breath and went back to the window.

I stayed on the step and listened to him trying to reassure Harry for, gosh, the next thirty minutes or so but Harry was firm. I think the most sound dad got out of him was a hum. I finally heard them heading back toward the stairs and I took that as my cue to escape to my room. Dad dropped by before going to bed himself and said thanks for letting him know that Harry was upset and that he'd see me in the morning. I wanted to pump him for information, but something about the way dad's shoulders sat told me that I wouldn't like whatever answer I got. Instead, I crossed my fingers and prayed that everything would be at least a little bit better in the morning."

* * *

Though my focus is drifting in and out of consciousness, through deep and light sleep, my mind fills in the blanks and when I hear Kevin mumble a question, I somehow know what he asks.

* * *

"He looked really awful when we saw him again," Fred replies. "He was sitting at the kitchen table long before any of us got there. He looked small, and frail, almost as if he was a complete stranger in our home and was waiting to be caught after breaking and entering; as if he was preparing his soul for a lifetime prison sentence. His eyes were thick and red; I knew, we all knew, that he hadn't slept the night before. I could hear him breathing in and out, slowly and measured. He didn't even know that George and I had come in until he heard the clatter of breakfast bowls in the cupboard when George went to grab some. I've never seen him start so badly in my life. He's a tough kid, always has been, but, I mean, we've pulled some really nasty stuff on our brothers before and never gotten such a reaction. We asked him if he was okay and he kind of nodded."

"A little too fervently, if you ask me," George cut in.

"Agreed," Fred continued. "The rest of the family slowly trickled in after that and the next twenty minutes or so were like a whirlwind around him. I could see it on his face – I watched him. He just sat there, hunched in on himself, yet unyielding as stone. It was as if the whole world was running on super speed and he was running in slow motion. And still, with every noise he started, or took a deep breath, or closed his eyes tightly. Every time his shoulders tensed, his fingers clenched another shade whiter – every jump became bigger than the last.

When mum finally put breakfast on the table, he looked at about the edge of his very last destroyed nerve. We'd all calmed substantially since we came down; everybody had noticed how jumpy he was. He seemed so nervous the whole time that he didn't even serve himself; Mum filled his plate for him. Before we were a third of the way through, he had his glasses off and was leaning deeply into his hand, very cautiously taking tiny bites of his eggs. Occasionally he would shake slightly with withheld panic, I think, but it wasn't until Ginny accidentally lost her grip on her fork and it clattered to her plate that he lost it entirely. He dropped his own fork then and pulled in on himself completely with both hands over his face and began to shake in earnest.

"It's all right, Harry," dad said immediately, jumping out of his seat and resting a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. The rest of us fell completely silent. Even after Cedric died, and – and his godfather… he had been strong, and now, _then_, something had broken him. It was then that we all realized, I mean _fully_ realized, how bad off he was. Dad pulled him from his seat then, whispering soothingly, "Come on, let's go out to the porch," and, "Yes, it's going to be all right," things like that. Without thinking, we all pulled our chairs in so that they could pass, Dad consciously or unconsciously shielding him from our view. They went out by the living room and we could see Dad setting him down on the front stoop but after that, they were out of our view from the window.

Mum was flustered. We were all shocked. In the silence we could hear him trying so hard not to cry and Dad trying anything he could think to say to get him to calm down. After a few minutes, which felt like hours because of how awkward we all felt, mum made a mug of hot chocolate for Harry and brought it out to them. I don't know what happened out there exactly but when she came back in, she told us to finish our breakfast and go up to our rooms.

Ron, being Ron, immediately asked why and mum only said, "There's too many of us around right now. I think we are overwhelming him."

"But he's always loved being around all of us," Ron replied, "he's told me so at least a dozen times."

"Ron," mum replied solemnly, "I'm sure while he was... away… a lot of terrible things occurred, and I wouldn't be surprised if they happened when a lot of wizards were present. I know that you are thinking he shouldn't be afraid of us," she cut him off with a hand in the air, "but the mind is a very vulnerable place. What he may hear and see in reality is probably being misconstrued in his head to make him think that he is back, wherever he was. There's nothing that we can do about it except try and ease him out of it and in order to do that, we need to ease him into the size of our family again. So I say again, when you are done with your breakfast, go up to your rooms and we'll get you when we are ready for you. Please," she insisted when we all looked at her with surprise. "Trust us on this. Just, leave your plates on the table and go," she insisted gently.

Ginny nodded although confused, picked up her toast and headed out of the room and up the stairs; Ron, George and I followed her up, whispering to each other the whole time and agreeing on slipping some of our prototype communication strings to each other so we could keep talking – we thought we could come up with a way to bring him back ourselves even though our efforts thus far had been futile.

As it turned out, we were all confined to our rooms for the better part of the morning with only a few updates from Ginny on how he was doing. She could just barely see him and dad out her window if she stood on her bed to get the steepest possible angle. They went in shortly after we were banished though and when mum saw our extendable ear strings wriggling down the steps, she yanked them so hard we lost them and she threw them in the bin. The one thing we all knew for sure though was that he still wasn't talking, not really. We managed to catch him saying that he was scared before mum caught us but that was all. None of us were allowed downstairs for lunch so mum brought us sandwiches and lemonade but when she came up to collect our plates she brought Ron down with her.

Later he told us that Harry really didn't say anything to him, he still sadly denied any sort of verbal communication but consented to playing a slow game of chess."

"Ron told Ginny later," George cut in, "that he's never put so much concentration into a single game before. He could see that Harry was still very upset and he worried greatly that by beating him by the normal margin that Harry would just feel worse, but knew that if he let Harry win, he would know and that would also make him feel worse. He played his hand carefully setting up some of his pieces to take falls but did it carefully so that Harry wouldn't know he was being had. Ron let himself win in the end, he had to, but he'd orchestrated such a close game that he thought Harry would accept it and even feel good about it. He did feel better after the game, but his hands had shaken through the whole thing and continued to do so afterward; even his eyes were still red, his face pale with exhaustion.

"They didn't talk much," George continued, "Ron tried to get him to say anything but he wouldn't make a sound, much like now apparently."

"After another hour or so had passed, Mum had Ginny come downstairs to help with some baking; Harry's favorite biscuits of course," George continued. "We could hear from our room how quiet things were below and we wondered if Mum and Dad's plan was working. After the kitchen timer had dinged a few times, Fred and I decided not to wait for a formal escort and trod as normally as we could down the steps."

"From the spy landing," Fred picked up, "we caught dad's eye and he gave us the nod, a none-too-pleased nod, but a nod just the same. We came down talking about the wonderful smell and how we hoped Ginny hadn't spoiled them or put puking pastilles in them to try and cheer Harry up but Ron only said later that his gaze turned downward and he held his rook all the tighter in his fist.

"We came out with a plate of biscuits and messed about ruining their chess game like we usually do in the common room at school trying to joke and banter like always but to no avail. We even tried dragging Harry to the back porch for a brotherly chat-"

"Because brothers do not do heart-to-hearts you know." George cut in.

"You get suckered in when you only have a sister," Kevin replied morosely to a few chuckles but quickly urged them forward.

"But he wouldn't respond to us. He would only shrug or nod blandly and when we finally went back inside he retreated to the washroom and didn't come back for nearly twenty minutes. Gradually it grew to be like breakfast all over again and dad sent us back to our rooms in reverse order, apparently just before another meltdown that lasted nearly as long as the first.

For dinner we all ate separately. Mum and Ginny together, George and I in our room, dad, Ron and Harry up in Ron's room. It was very subdued and very unnatural for us but we all figured it was for the best. Mum went around and collected our plates when we were finished, dad grabbing our glasses. We only learned in the morning that shortly after that Harry left the burrow for good. It was hard thinking the last that we saw of him was as he was in a panic, struggling to retain himself and that we, however inadvertently, had caused it. He's always been like a little brother to us and to see him so distressed one minute and then find out that he's gone to who-knows-where and who knows if we'll ever see him again the next was... was..."

"Hard," George states simply and without fuss. "Ron was especially broken up about it. He raged for days at mum and dad for not telling him that they were recommending Harry be resituated. He couldn't understand, none of us could, why Harry needed to be away from us but word through the warping ivy is that he's been doing better with Remus which I suppose is all we can hope for."

"So we're sure now you understand what the quarrel between us and Remus is about," Fred added in deftly and I note with despair the use of the term "us" instead of "George." "Ron didn't speak to either mum or dad for nearly two weeks and rarely came out of his room either. We only knew he was alive by a toilet flush and the sight of his owl swooping out of his window with a heavy letter. It should be Ron and Hermione here now, not us. We're sure they've made themselves literally sick with worry over losing Harry twice and we know it would mean the world to them to see him again, no matter what condition he's in, no matter if he can talk to them or only sleep through their visit."

"They need to be here, Kevin," George states with finality, "and we need you to convince Remus that they need to be here too."

"I'll do what I can," Kevin replies earnestly. "He seems like he can be a tough customer, but I'll give it a go. Thank you, honestly. Thank you both for telling me all of this. I think it's safe to say that we probably wouldn't ever get this story from Harry and I doubt Remus knows all of it, although he's already surprised me with his depth of knowledge if Harry really doesn't speak as you all say."

"He doesn't. Or at least didn't, maybe he speaks more to Remus than they're letting on."

"It wouldn't seem all that odd to me. A person in Harry's situation would want and need a confidant and all good confidants are excellent liars," Kevin said with a slight smirk. Without opening my eyes, I know the twins are smirking too; they are after all the best liars at Hogwarts. "Although, I have to ask, could there be any major reason that Remus would keep Harry's closer friends away?"

"No," Fred says after a moment of thought, "other than for protection and safety, for all of them, nothing that I can think of. George?"

"You think I have an idea?" he stated incredulously. "I've been angry with Remus for weeks, terrible to him to his face and you think that I have an idea that would justify his actions?"

"Never mind then," Fred said in mock defense. "Kevin, George says 'no,'" he finishes in a teasing, overly-professorial tone.

"Prat," George mutters.

"Eh, you love me," Fred says offhandedly.

"Doesn't change the truth," George replies.

"Touché," Fred says.

"But seriously," George says, readdressing Kevin, "you've got to find a way to get Remus' knickers untwisted because it's brutal the way he's ignoring our brother and their friend. Harry had terrible nightmares and panic attacks when Ron was around and could at least try to calm him down; I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like without either of them for so long."

"I promise to do what I can, but I make no guarantees," Kevin repeats. "Remus seems to be very straightforward, no nonsense, and if he can truly read Harry as he suggests he can, then maybe there are motives that we don't see. Maybe Harry doesn't want to be seen by his two best friends."

"What?" Fred and George both reply, flabbergasted.

"It's not terribly uncommon," Kevin asserts. "Sometimes victims just don't want to be seen by those that know them the best; they feel inadequate, embarrassed, and I'm guessing if Harry could speak, that would be one of the things he would tell us. At least I hope he would. I would sincerely hate to find out that Remus or anyone else has just been keeping him holed up for no good reason. I'm sure that's not the case," he continued then stated a little more uncertainly, "don't you two think so?"

There was a considering pause in the conversation which slowly made my skin begin to crawl. They would never – sure, some Order members would love to keep me locked up and in a safe place where they knew that nothing could happen to me, but not without my consent. And Remus especially wouldn't do something like that. I was working up the nerve to speak and refute his questions when my breath was, surprisingly, saved by George. "You're right," he said. "For as angry as I am at the whole situation, logically, nobody would ever do anything to hurt Harry in any way. He's too important to all of us. He's family," and with a sigh of relief, some of the embarrassment from the last thirty minutes has melted away into a comforting peace.

If nothing else comes of this, at least I can wrap myself in the warm knowledge that they aren't angry with me; now I just have to wait and see if I can say the same thing about Remus.

_Please, whoever is out there, don't let him hate me._


	21. Secrets, Fears, and Lies

September 12, 2012

Disclaimer: You're so pretty. Bless your little heart.

Authors Note: Hi! I've missed you! I hope you missed me! Sorry if the grammar or formatting is bad, and off we go!

* * *

"You gonna to make it?" Tonks asks me cheekily as we walk into the surprisingly boisterous cafeteria.

"Yeah," I reply flatly. "I'm just not keen on meeting with the twins again is all."

"Why? Because of what they said to you, or what you said to them?"

"Me to them. You are right. I had no right to prematurely color Harry's behavior and attitude before he had even woken up. It could completely change Fred and George's own behavior which may upset Harry even further-"

"Hold on," Tonks cut in. "You can't berate yourself for something that hasn't happened, something that might not ever happen. For all we know your warning could change their behavior in such a way that leads them to opening Harry's shell, or making them turn a new leaf… or cause tornados in Tokyo." At my puzzled expression, she answered with a blasé, "butterfly wings," and continues on. "The point is _stop worrying_. You can't start to fix something before you know what is broken – or if it even is broken. We'll figure it out when we get there."

"I know, I just can't help it. Harry has been my entire responsibility for the past month and freeing him is all that I worked on for the month before that; I can't help but feel like I have to guard him from the world."

"Well, you've done a really excellent job," Tonks said honestly as we sidle into the line, "everybody thinks so. He didn't even flinch yesterday when he came down to a kitchen full of people and that was something we had all discussed and planned for."

"You planned for the possibility that he wouldn't be able to handle it?" I ask incredulously.

"We're the Order. We like to have all our bases covered," she smirks as she selects a fruit bowl off the line. I am relieved to note that the gush of breath that whooshes out of my lungs is amused and not irritated at not having been in on the plan. Curious, I inquire what the contingency consisted of. "Mostly duck and hide," she confesses with a sheepish grin. "We were all going to have to escort him here; it's not as if we could just leave and go home." I can't stop the chuckle that comes up as a picture of Mad Eye trying to squat behind a dining chair comes to mind. Tonks turns and tries to hand me a plate covered with eggs, fried tomatoes and toast. I shake my head, "Really, Tonks, I'm not hungry." My mind is so firmly on Harry that I don't think I'll be able to swallow a single bite.

"Yes, you are," she replies emphatically. "How many all-night diners have we sat across from each other in after the full moon? You could put one of those places out of business for the day with how much you can pack away. I know you're worried about him and that can wreak havoc on anybody's stomach, but you need to eat. He's not going to make a miraculous recovery because you skip a meal. If anything, eating breakfast will wake you up a bit so that when he does decide to re-grace us with his waking presence, you'll be there to comfort him, which will make him feel better." Dejectedly, I recognize the truth in her words and accept the full plate while she pays the cashier. "Breakfast is on me," she tosses over her shoulder as I strengthen my resolve to eat at least some of what's on the plate. With a gesture of her head, we walk toward a table in the back half of the large hall and sit across from each other. After a few bites on both our parts she asks nonchalantly, "So, how did it go last night?"

"It was fine," I sigh between bites. "Severus brought the Wolfsbane so there was nothing to worry about."

"And how was his meeting yesterday?"

"You haven't heard?"

"No, should I have?" she asks nervously.

"I'll have to tell you at another time," I say lowly, and solemnly she nods her head.

Remus and I eat quietly for a few more bites and my mind wanders as to what could have possibly gone wrong at the Death Eater meeting. I would think that if we'd lost Severus we all would have known within hours of the meeting being over so I gladly disregard that notion. If Harry was in more danger, we wouldn't be here right now. I suppose they could have found out some information that we didn't want them to have, but no. If it was anything serious we would all be well aware by now. I turn my focus to my fruit bowl, shoving pieces around and hoping for a slice of orange despite it being the wrong season.

I glance up and beyond Remus' right shoulder as he cuts up his toast with his fork and immediately pray that his eyes stay on his plate. Not five meters behind him is a boy about Harry's age, the same shock of messy dark hair sticking out like it's never been combed. He's sitting with who I presume is his mother and two sisters, one older, one younger. I can clearly see that he's had surgery recently but he's in high spirits nevertheless, laughing and joking with the elder of the sisters. When the younger sister playfully shoves his arm, he lets out a small grimace and an "Ow," but continues to laugh straight through. The mother directs a glare at the younger girl, but the siblings are too busy enjoying themselves to notice.

I'm certain it would kill Remus to see it but I'm glad for it; it brings me hope for Harry's future and I pray that soon we will see the same look of relief on our own faces as I see on our doppelganger's mother's face. 'Soon we'll have our own reunion,' I promise myself, 'soon.'

Not wanting to be caught staring beyond him, I look back to my fruit just in time for Remus to clear his throat.

"I haven't really spoken with Albus in a while. How is he faring?" he asks but it seems like he's forcing the question.

"He's doing all right, I suppose," I reply. "He's been a bit distracted this morning but was still the sharpest person in the room." He nods absently as if he expected the answer. "What do you know that I don't?" When he settles for spearing some eggs and toast on his fork and chewing deliberately slowly I ask, "Something else for another time, or the same thing?" At this he nods but I don't bother asking which one he's nodding for. I sigh inwardly, hating that he won't just tell me outright but understanding that Order business is not public business.

Quite unexpectedly, he tosses his fork down on his plate and clears his throat. "This is wrong." Curious, I rest my fork on the rill of my bowl and ask, "What is wrong?"

"This," he whispers vehemently, gesturing lightly at the table and the room at large. "It just feels like I should be doing something more important right now."

"Like what?" I ask placatingly, "You've already done so much."

"I could be researching," he retorts, "reading up on ways to talk to him, things to say. If there's a possibility that part of this has been magically induced… well, I could help figure it out and cure him. There's… there's always _something_that can be done." The desperation that floods his voice makes my heart ache and I notice that I'm holding my breath. I let it out silently, not wanting to alert him to the fact and consider my words carefully before I begin.

"You're not a miracle worker, Remus," I say, and instantly regret how bluntly it came out. I power on, hoping to quell some of the harshness of it with further explanation. "What's happened to Harry can't be fixed overnight. You're not going to find a spell or a passage or a magic word that will remake him to what he was two months ago. This is just another unfortunate turn his life has taken. Some people's roads are just rockier than others."

"Yes, but I can't help but feel that I've shoved enormous boulders into his path, blocking his way out."

I sigh softly, a small laugh masked beneath the sound. "You are the only one that doesn't see the giant pick-axe in your hands, breaking them down."

"What?"

I don't reply for a moment; I can't. All of my thoughts have become completely jumbled. Albus' distraction, Severus' even more distinct avoidance, secrets within the Order, Remus' self-loathing, Harry's newfound incarceration… and me, in the middle, desperate to understand, to comfort, to raise up. It's what I do, in fact it was written in my exams in bright Ministry-purple ink by Mad-Eye himself. "_Cares too much, may be a detriment to her law enforcement_." He thought I should be some kind of therapist, and probably thought keeping me in an office would keep clumsy accidents to a minimum. But although my coordination isn't always so coordinated, facts and figures have always had a tendency to slip into perfect synchronization in my mind, and I fear now is the time to bring up a slightly older topic for discussion.

I stay quiet for a moment more, hoping something else will crop up, but I know this is the route to take and so, with great care, I begin speaking.

"You know when… when Sirius died," I start, and he is clearly not expecting my change in tone and certainly not this direction of topic. "When Sirius died, the only thing I could think about was the things that happened that night. What time I was called, the fact that I waited for someone else before I entered the building, the people I fought and tricks I could have used to stop them faster so that I may have been able to save him. But I can't go back in time to protect him, I can't redo any of my actions from that night – I'll never get my cousin back. You, on the other hand, you can still help Harry. He's not lost yet. You have to remember that just because he isn't talking doesn't mean he's throwing in the towel – he's not gone, just confused trying to understand what's happened to him in the last few turns of the road and what it means for those ahead. You can help him make sense of it, navigate it." I scoff slightly, "You're the only one who doesn't see that you already are making sense of things. Don't give up on yourself because he's not racing down to the park to play football with the neighborhood lads and don't push yourself too far to try and make that happen before he's really ready. If you do, I have a horrible feeling you'll both burn out or wear down and that's the last thing any of us want. You have all of the future to make things right; don't give up because the first month was a little tough."

"Tonks, I'm so sorry about Sirius," he starts.

"Stop. There's nothing you could have done either – trust me, I've been through all the scenarios. Besides, if you hadn't been with Harry, we probably would have lost him too. It seems you, my friend, were born to rescue him. I know Sirius. He would be happy… and proud… of what you've accomplished. He's not angry with you from beyond the grave – he never could be. And I don't think Harry is angry or upset with you. You may not have noticed it yesterday morning, but he leans towards you slightly when you walk side by side. He knows that you'll protect him and he trusts you. He wouldn't do that if he ever doubted you or didn't think that you were helping." I swallow carefully. "And while we're here, I don't think you should be angry with Harry either, for what he did to you this morning."

His head comes up sharply, looking into my eyes with confusion and concern. "What? What did he do? And how could he have possibly done something to me if we were separated all night?"

I look down at my bowl before raising only my eyes to his face; my face always burns when confessing the truth. "Harry is the one that convinced the Weasley's to drug you this morning. You know Molly has a soft spot for anything he asks, especially since he asks for so little. He's been so worried about you lately and he knew you weren't getting much sleep. He was just trying to help."

"But this morning you behaved as if you didn't know anything about it!"

"I lied," I say simply. "He asked Molly and the older sons, they told me before I came down here. They knew you were angry and wanted me to understand the situation before I leaped into the middle of it."

"So you've all known this whole time?" It somehow always surprises me that his anger can flare so quickly.

"I wouldn't think that five people counted as 'you all' but yes," I admit.

He sits and fumes across the table from me, digesting this new information and obviously not liking one bit of it. "What is the matter with him?" he suddenly bursts out. "Doesn't he _want_my help?" The young man and his sisters from two tables over turn around and look at Remus curiously and with awe. He looks more like Harry than I originally thought.

"Of course he does!" I break in placatingly, praying the siblings will turn back around soon. "But you know how Harry thinks – always about others and never about himself. How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the last week?"

"What? I don't know!"

"Guess. How many hours a night? Four? Five if you're lucky? And how many does it actually feel like? Two or three at the best? You are just as run down as he is and if you would pause and just think about the words behind his eyes you would know that he feels so guilty for keeping you up and for being a trigger for your migraines. You both are protecting each other from yourselves, don't you see? And yes, this was a horrible day for Harry to do it in your mind, but honestly, when would be a good time?"

He mulls that over for a moment as the cafeteria goes back to their conversations but eventually he shakes his head in disagreement. "That should not have been his choice to make. _I _am the grown-up here and he had no right to do that."

"No right to take care of you, his guardian? The only one he's had that he's ever liked and cared about and had the ability to actually live with? The only one he'd risk angering into disownment because of his own concern? You yourself have said what a rough time Harry's had and how you don't want to make it worse. Look at where he placed himself this time and everything that he is risking for you, the only person he seems to consider true family right now. Don't let being indignant spoil this gift he gave you in the face of a potentially great personal loss. He's risked banishment and alienation from you so you could get just a couple hours of sleep. Don't ruin what you have because of that."

He sucks in a breath and holds it for a few seconds, his eyes traveling to the other patrons of the cafeteria as he ponders over what I've just said to him. Eventually he bows his head and rubs one of his eyebrows gruffly. "Fine," he states reluctantly. "But I still don't like it."

"You don't have to like it," I reassure him, "you just have to understand."

We sit in silence for moment, Remus watching his plate, I watching Remus.

"Where did you get so good at speeches?" Remus asks finally.

"My mum," I laugh. "If you've heard the pep talk once, you've heard it a hundred times." He laughs lightly, knowing that it's true having been on the receiving end more than once. "Let's get out of here, eh?" I ask. "There's a nice garden outside and the weather is nice. It'll do you good to get away, if only for a few minutes."

"All right," he agrees with a sigh. "But only for a few minutes."

We finish our breakfast and drop off our rubbish at the bins then slowly begin to meander our way back through the halls. Even two feet away from him, I can tell he feels drained, as if all his angry energy has been spent and in so doing, the rest of his energy has left with it.

"It's over this way, to the left of the little newsstand," I direct and we stroll out the sliding doors into a shaded, cool garden, despite the summer heat. Unexpectedly Remus selects a bench along the outer walk and sits down, soaking in the peacefulness while radiating the negative energy he feels. I sit down lightly beside him and take his hand. The move is a touch bolder than I usually go for and although Remus doesn't initially seem terribly inclined to accept my intrusion, he eventually warms to my palm against his and folds his fingers surreptitiously around mine. This is not normal for us; usually we only share the sort of jocular rough-housing of Aurors, pats on the back, and warm handshakes after lengthy absences from each other. Three years ago we were little more than acquaintances, but now... now I can feel his flagging strength beating through the capillaries of his fingers while my skin absorbs the waves. It is electrifying and melancholy much like that miraculous night that we brought Harry safely home to Hogwarts, only this time there is a considerable difference. This time we have contact, and this time, through his pain, I think Remus can feel me, too.

* * *

"Well good morning, beautiful," I hear exclaimed from somewhere that is decidedly too close. "Finally going to join us, eh? Grace us with His Majesty's presence?"

"Piss off," I grumble good-naturedly. When I open my eyes I see shocked excitement and realize I've broken my vow of silence with them.

"He speaks! All Hail! All Hail!" they call and feign all-reverent bowing from their seats while I sit up gingerly and shake my head at them. "He's so radiant!" "And glorious!" they continue so I decide to make myself as comfortable as possible. I pull my pillows up into a half pyramid behind me with an actual amount of struggle. I feel weak in general and my muscles feel watery, as if they've never moved once in my entire life. Once piled, I lean my side heavily against them so I can see the twins better, but it pins one of my arms and I don't have the strength to move it. _Oh well, _I think and return to smiling wanly at their antics.

After they've worn themselves out with their dubious displays of admiration and they see that I'm situated relatively comfortably they turn serious. It makes me wonder if they've always had this ability or if it is something they have recently acquired. "We heard you had a rough night, mate. How are you feeling now?" I shrug noncommittally against my deep, embracing pillows and vaguely wave in their direction as a means of diverting their question back on themselves.

"Us? Ah well, the storm kept the ghoul up all night-"  
"-had him in a right frenzy."  
"So it wasn't as enjoyable as usual-"  
"-but on the whole-"  
"Not bad," they concluded together.

"Mostly we couldn't wait to come see you," said Fred. "Been a right boring summer without the extra twerp to pull pranks on." I frown at them jokingly. _I'm sure your summer was utterly ruined, _I think sarcastically and refuse to acknowledge the truth of my own ruined summer in the process. Still, I'm sure the smothering black weight that tries to settle on me crosses my features despite my best attempt to hide it. The twins mercifully give no indication of a change and George powers ahead.

"But you've had the better part of the summer with Master Moony if the rumors are to be believed. Learn any new tricks? Spent any days with horrible, multi-colored pustules across your face?" Of course I shake my head 'no.' Neither of us was ever in a truly cheery mood although we did have some good days. Jelly beans hidden in my pancakes, one of Leggo's giant, plastic bugs hidden in Remus' bowl of popcorn when he was engrossed in his favorite book, cartoon-themed bedding on a day that was plagued with naps but more importantly nightmares. I feel a little guilty thinking back on them this way. His 'pranks' were always happy or silly surprises, mine and Leggo's always had a little more shock value.

Then Fred drops the proverbial bomb.

"We hear you pulled off a pretty elaborate scheme yourself this morning," and my frown turns inward just as it blatantly covers my features. "You did the right thing," he says confidently and with zero hesitation. "Remus doesn't have anyone to take care of him. Someone's gotta do it." I feel horrible and disappointed in myself for going behind his back but I know Fred's words are true. They are the exact words I repeated to myself for three days before going through with it. I shore up my confidence in my actions so that when he comes in raging I won't melt into a puddle.

"You're mum?" I ask plainly.

"She's giving your house the 'everything-is-fine' scrub down, but she'll be all right. She felt the same way you did, I think she just wishes he could see how much he needed it, too." I nod thoughtfully. I just don't want him to be irrevocably mad at me. That's always been my biggest fear with him. That I would cross _**The Line **_and it would all be over. "He's been here already this morning," he continues and I must look surprised. "It's nearly one in the afternoon. He's out having a really late breakfast with Tonks; they'll probably be back soon."

"We'd like to ask you something Harry and since we don't have much time, we can't exactly beat around the bush," George states.

I pause for a moment and my eyes travel across the bedding toward my legs. What could they want? What do I have to tell them? Do they need me to do something in return so soon? How can I repay them when I'm happy that I'm merely upright, and precariously so?

"Don't look so distressed, mate. It's just a question," Fred says comfortingly. I take a deep breath and nod that I am ready for them to proceed even though I'm really not. "We just wanted to know if you've spoken with Hermione or Ron at all this summer. Ron hasn't said anything and we haven't seen her. The bottom line is, we'll sneak them in for you if you want. We're not feeling terribly generous to the professor at the moment and we're in the mood for a little rule breaking."

I release my deep breath and almost shake my head at the irony of it all. I've seen Ron twice this past week alone and Hermione four or five times in the past two. The only difference was that Ron didn't have a clue who I was; the idea of it still makes me feel a little sick and baffled. How did he not notice that Hermione acted so much more affectionately than she would have with a true stranger? Daft. Completely oblivious.

"Not necessary, but thank you." I say as they both lean back in their chairs, sizing me up visually with questions in their eyes. I debate whether I should let them in on the secret or not before finally deciding to go for it. "I'm 'Lupin's neighbor.'"

They look each other in the eye sharing an entire conversation with just a shift of their chins before George blurts out, "You're the kid that's 'new to the neighborhood and could use some company'?" I nod carefully, wondering what their next reaction is going to entail.

After a moment, Fred exclaims, "Blimey he's crafty, and none of us even considered questioning him; we took it at face value and off Ron went to a play-date with a stranger."

"Did he know it was you?" George asks next. I shake my head side-to-side. "Fidelius Charm," I whisper hoarsely and leave it at that.

"Did Hermione know?" Fred tries and I slowly nod a yes. "Told or figured it out?" he asks in a tone that suggests he favors the Sherlock Hermione theory to the cheaters path. I glance at George's none-too-pleased face and raise one finger in reply hoping against hope that it stays attached to my hand.

"Why her and not Ron?" George asks and I detect a slightly more dangerous note to his tone.

I can't shrug in response to this and I certainly can't blow it off. I'm in hot water and feel exhaustion sweep over me as my headache ratchets up. I close my eyes and hear her screaming in my dreams again as I lean back into my pillows, praying for a rescue.

Quietly from my side, I hear Fred say, "Do you love her, Harry?" My eyes snap open and I shake my head, eyebrows pressed together incredulously. Fred almost laughs as he concedes, "All right, mate, just asking."

"Nightmares," I explain simply. "Needed reassurance. Chickened out on telling Ron. Didn't want to endanger your family more."

"We all know about you Harry - we're all in the Order!" George says exasperatedly.  
"Except Ron, Ginny, and Percy," Fred interjects.  
"Percy doesn't count, he's a git," George bites back.  
"Fair enough, I'm just saying..." Fred murmurs and risks twitching his eyebrows at me for a laugh when George isn't looking. It doesn't help.

"You should have just told him!" George argues and now I do shrug. What can I possibly say? The whole truth is just downright paranoid. It was bad enough telling Hermione the extremely small amount that we thought was relatively safe to tell. I can't handle a similar reaction from Ron only I know it will be a million times worse. I cover my face with my free hand and try my hardest to keep rational, keep the tension from over flooding my nerves.

"All right, ease off the coffee, George. We're here to make Harry feel better, not worse," Fred intervenes delicately. "It must have been beyond awful for you to only tell one of your best friends. And Hermione's a smart girl, but she must have taken what you told her badly if you weren't encouraged to share with more people." _But that's not it,_ I think miserably. _She doesn't know anything at all. _"It doesn't matter what your reason is for not telling others, including Ron," he says looking pointedly at George. "However, our offer still stands: we will smuggle them in for you, or anyone really, should you happen to change your mind." I nod my head thankfully as another more urgent thought comes to mind.

"Don't tell Remus you know they came over. We'll get in big trouble," I beg insistently.

"With who?" George asks, intrigued.

"Dumbledore," I say, before turning to see Remus and Tonks standing in the doorway. So much for keeping secrets.


End file.
